The Little Diomede Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Illya has gone missing while on assignment and Napoleon along with agent Peter Galey head North to Alaska to complete the Russian's mission and to hopefully find him alive. (not treating this as a crossover as the references are so minor)
1. Chapter 1

Napoleon Solo entered Alexander Waverly's conference room; heading to his usual spot at the table where the boss was already seated. The chairs however, were different, having been replaced as part of a program to update the look of headquarters. Napoleon squirmed for a moment, trying to get comfortable after seating himself.

"Something wrong Mr. Solo".

"I miss the old chairs."

"As do I...why things have to be fixed when they aren't broken is beyond me," Waverly interjected. "Now if I may draw your attention to this?"

A video screen lowered down from the ceiling, newer and larger than the old one."

The conference room doors opened and another agent quickly joined them, seating himself beside Solo.

"How kind of you to join us,"Waverly harumphed." Mr. Solo I'm sure you're acquainted with Agent Peter Galey."

Napoleon acknowledged the man with a quick nod of his head, but immediately turned his attention back to his boss.

"My apologies for being late," the sandy-haired agent replied. "Excellent image there sir, no doubt due to a higher number of pixels," Galey said.

"Show off," Napoleon leaned over, whispering out of the side of his mouth.

Somehow he found himself missing Illya not being there making the same sort of remark about the video, but his partner was off on assignment. The pair had seen little of each other in the last month and it made Solo acutely aware of how close they'd become.

Their friendship was a bond that strengthened their partnership, though Mr. Waverly thought otherwise. As of late, he'd started giving the two men separate assignments.

"Yes, quite. I suppose some changes are for the better," Waverly agreed, looking back up at the screen.

"What is that?" Solo asked.

The photograph they were looking at showed three men wearing hard hats working on what appeared to be some sort of rocket.

"This gentlemen, is a reconnaissance photograph smuggled out by our agent who was deep undercover at a new THRUSH installation."

"Was, sir?" Galey asked.

"At the moment he is presumed missing and possibly dead as we have not heard from him in well over thirty-seven hours. He was supposed to check in with me every five hours."

"Which agent sir?" Napoleon interrupted.

"I was afraid you'd ask Mr. Solo. It was Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon showed no reaction, remaining calm and collected, listening to Waverly as he continued to speak.

"He was to infiltrate the target location in Alaska, as we have no idea what's going on there, and sadly we still don't. His last communication indicated he'd just gained access to a certain restricted area, presumably one where this photo was taken. Our best guess is that it is missile silo, and given its location, a launch could be made against the Soviet Union and start World War three. Our main fear is that there might be a nuclear warhead involved."

"And THRUSH would be waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces. Where exactly is this installation?"Solo asked. His demeanor was all business but his stomach was doing flip flops as he worried about his partner.

"It's on the island of 'Little Diomede' in the Bering Strait."

"That's only 55 miles from Siberia, isn't it?" Peter asked.

Hmm, yes quite. There's two small, sparsely populated islands there, Big Diomede, which geographically sits in Soviet territory. During World War II it became a military base and has remained so for some time. After the war the native population was forced off the island to the mainland in order to avoid contacts across the 'border,' less than 2.4 miles away on the island of LIttle Diomede, which is part of the state of Alaska, and of course the United States. The border separating Big and Little Diomede is known as the Ice Curtain."

"A little too close for comfort. Does the U.S. military have a presence on Little Diomede? Given the island's proximity to the Soviet Union, it would make sense there would be," Napoleon said.

"One would think so, but apparently not, which is why THRUSH has taken up residence there, given the small population, the isolated location and lack of military oversight. Thanks to Mr. Kuryakin we know the man heading the operation there is one Victor Popsuy."

Galey held up a photograph of a dark haired man possibly in his fifties that was included in the briefing folder. There was nothing unusual or distinctive about him at all; he just looked like an ordinary middle-age man.

"Don't let his appearance deceive you. Popsuy is as cold blooded as they come; he rose up through THRUSH ranks by eliminating his competition by most violent means. He's American born but is of Russian descent."

"Now on the western shore of the island is the Inupiat village of Diomede, also known as _Inalik_. It's inhabited by a small population of native Inuits and approximately forty ethnic Russians. Though they consider themselves American, they still have ties to friends and family living on Big Diomede. It had been deemed wise to send Agent Kuryakin there since he is Russian and would have therefore been more readily accepted. It seems the locals are being employed by THRUSH to complete their installation."

"I know you have a good grasp of the Russian language Mr. Solo, but Mr. Galey here is fluent. His father is from Moscow and his mother was from Belarus, they managed to escape to the American side of Berlin after the war. Again, being able to speak the language might make your presence more acceptable to the locals."

Waverly walked to the oversized globe in the office, spinning it, and bringing it to a stop at Alaska and the Bering Strait. He touched his finger there, and the enlarged image appeared on the video screen...another improvement courtesy of Research and Development.

"Travel between the islands is of course strictly forbidden. The waters of the Bering Strait are patrolled by the U.S. Navy and Coast Guard, as well as ships from the Soviet Navy, there to see that any unauthorized travel doesn't take place. There are several large fishing and crabbing boats that operate out of Dutch Harbor on the island of Amaknak 822 miles away in the Aleutians, and since they do work in the Bering Sea, they're monitored very closely as well."

Waverly's bushy eyebrows arched, giving emphasis to his last statement but smiled. "By the way, I believe Alaskan King Crab is on the menu at the Commissary today."

His agents managed a chuckle at that statement.

"Yes, well...ahem, back to business. Your assignment gentlemen, is to get into that operation and stop whatever it is THRUSH is doing there."

He sent around a packet with the details on their travel arrangements as well as the island.

"Your flight via UNCLE jet leaves tomorrow morning for Anchorage, from there you'll head to Nome and once there, you'll charter a flight to Wales, which is accessible by air and sea only. Charter flights are available from Wales to Diomede, otherwise you'll have come up with your own solution to get to the island since as there are no regular ferry crossings or anything to that effect going to there."

"What about by submarine?" Napoleon asked."Wouldn't that be a more stealthy way to arrive?"

Waverly paused, picking up his pipe and tapping the bowl in his crystal ashtray to clear it. Reaching for his humidor; he packed filled the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a deep drag before he answered the question.

"No, that wouldn't be advisable. We want your arrival to be as normal as possible for one coming to the island. Soviet vessels would detect a submarine in the area. No need to spark an international suspiciouns or an incident between them and the U.S. Navy. I know the Americans have helped us before, but in this case...well it would be ill-advised."

"And what about Mr. Kuryakin?"

"He is secondary to the mission. If he's still alive, then by all means bring him back, but not at the expense of your assignment. Am I absolutely clear on this?" Smoke from Waverly's pipe spiralled in the air above his head.

"Crystal clear sir," Solo answered, casting a sideways glance to Peter.

"Yes sir, understood," Galey chimed in.

The two men exited the conference room; first there'd be a trip to wardrobe for the appropriate clothing, given the cold temperatures in Alaska and of course, a stop over in the armory for explosives and detonators among other things.

"Hey, I'm sure Illya is still alive.… we UNCLE agents have a way of surviving,"

"Mmmh, ugh yes," Solo spoke absentmindedly." I'm sure you're right Peter..."

Napoleon gathered his gear; a large dufflebag in which to carry everything. Once he settled on his clothing and armaments, he headed to the garage and stowed everything in the back seat of the car he and Galey would be driving to Kennedy Airport. Their ten hour flight was scheduled to leave at seven a.m. sharp.

On his way out for the night, Solo spoke to his temporary partner, keeping it short, but not so sweet.

"Meet me here tomorrow morning, and _don't_ be late." That being said, he left Peter to stow his gear on his own.

Heather McNabb was working the desk at the employee entrance and as Solo handed her his badge, she hinted at going out for drinks. She batted her eyes as she flirted with him and Napoleon instantly knew what that meant, but he forced himself to decline.

"I hate to say no to you gorgeous, but I've got a very important appointment with a jet early tomorrow morning. Will a rain check do?" He leaned over, giving her a little peck on the cheek.

"For you Napoleon, always." She blew him a kiss as he smiled at her; he pretended catching it in his hand before exiting into the dressing room.

"Good luck on your assignment," she called after him before the door swung closed.

He had an uneasy feeling he was going to need it on this one, maybe more than his usual allotment of Solo luck.


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon and Peter settled in on their flight, which required a brief but welcome stopover in Seattle before proceeding onto Anchorage. It allowed them a few minutes to exit the plane to get some fresh air but not much more than that.

At least being on board one of the Command's private Lear Jets gave them time to review layouts of the island and the village of Diomede as well as to relax and catch up on their sleep.

This was one of the rare occasions that a female attendant wasn't on board to see to the passenger needs. The one scheduled, Mandy Dearing, with whom Napoleon was well acquainted, fell ill at the last minute. It was too late to find a replacement.

Not that the men couldn't pour their own drinks and warm their TV dinners themselves. They managed to do that as well as to take care of the pilot and copilot.

Once in Seattle, an attendant finally arrived. It was Louise Masterson from the UNCLE office in the state capital of Olympia. The sight of her made Napoleon cringe just a little.

Their last meeting, a date, if you wanted to call it that had not gone well. He stood her up actually, having disappeared with another woman, and airling stewardess he'd met at a hotel bar. To this day he regretted abandoning Louise, and had vowed since then to never again do that to a woman. So far he'd been a good boy and kept that promise to himself.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, seeing the uncharacteristic nervousness of his partern

"Don't ask." Solo tried burying his face behind a magazine.

"Why hello _Na_ -poleon," Louise said. Her voice was definitely on the cool side.

"Umm, hi Louise how are you? It's been a long time."

"Yes," she looked at her watch." I've been waiting a long time for that date haven't I?"

"Louise, I apologized to you. I sent you flowers and candy...can't you find it in your heart to forgive me.. _.please?"_ He practically purred to her."You can't stay mad at me for ever can you?"

Though part of her was enjoying seeing him squirm, she was still quite enamored of him.

"Tell you what, you can make it up to me now," she smiled, wiggling her index finger, indicating for him to follow her.

They disappeared to the galley; drawing the curtain closed behind them.

Peter shook his head, mumbling to himself."Now I understand how Kuryakin feels...the man must have the patience of a saint."

Galey, channeling Illya perhaps, rolled his eyes.

As the jet taxied, readying to take off, Napoleon returned to his place beside Peter; buckling his seatbelt with a satisfied sigh.

"You have lipstick on your cheek," Peter whispered.

"Errr, thanks," Napoleon wiped it off with his handkerchief, not offering an explanation; there was simply no need.

Once in the air the two agents concentrated on working out a cover story, keeping it simple; they were two men just looking for work, and word was out that men were needed for some sort of project on the island.

The fact they both spoke Russian would hopefully make their story more believable, allowing them to blend in with the residents and be accepted as 'one of their own.' There was a fair number of people with Russian background living there along with native Inuit people as well.

Solo's new identity was Eddie Vasilovich, Peter kept his own name, given it was Russian. It wasn't as well known as the names Solo and Kuryakin and he felt comfortable with the decision not to use alias. If asked, both would simply explain they were from a very small town called Nikolaevsk located on the Kenai Peninsula and were down on their luck.

Once arriving at Anchorage, they transferred their belongs with little to no fuss from the Lear Jet and found what the locals referred to as bush plane.

The pilot, named Buzz Brown, was already making a routine trip to Nome so taking on a couple of passengers for a modest fee would help his profit margin and keep his costs down. He was scheduled to deliver supplies to those living off the grid known as bush people.

They'd come into Nome once every few weeks to pick up their goods and would disappear back into the wilderness with barely a word spoken.

The pilot asked what his two passengers were planning to do, and sticking to their cover, Napoleon told him, "Just looking for work."

"Maybe we'll make our way up to Dutch Harbor and find some work on the fishing boats," Peter suggested, just to make casual conversation.

"Well," Buzz said."If you're going to be wandering these parts I'd recommend you getting yourselves a couple of hunting rifles. If you end up traveling on foot anywhere, there's a chance you could run into bears or even moose. Mighty dangerous, as are some of the bush people. They don't take to outsiders, if you know what I mean?"

"Thanks for the advice," Napoleon said. "I think we'll do just that. After offering to get Buzz some coffee, the agents headed off to a local gun shop.

"Better we look the part," Solo nodded to Peter. A short while later, the two returned with the coffee and each carrying an Enfield rifle slung over their shoulders. The shopkeeper told them this model had probably accounted for bringing down more deer, moose, caribou and bears than any other. Solo didn't doubt him, and the price was right at only ten dollars each, plus the ammunition.

Though not a recreational hunter, Napoleon imagined going up against a brown bear with this baby…

"Know how to use those things fellas?" Brown asked, thinking these two were a pair of _Cheechako_ s...what Alaskans called greenhorns."

Napoleon spotted a tin can lying on the far side of the two asphalt air strips. Swinging the rifle around; he released the safety and pulled back the bolt, loading a bullet. In the blink of an eye, he aimed and fired; hitting the can square on and sending it ricocheting up in to the air.

"Well that answers my question, doesn't it?" Buzz chuckled as he downed his coffee. "Okay boys we better get going; there's a storm brewing and we want to stay ahead of it...looks like snow."

They boarded the single engine DeHavilland DHC-2, commonly referred to as a 'Beaver.' It was apparently the quintessential Alaskan Bush plane and known as a big load-hauler.

It was indeed packed with everything imaginable, from plywood and other building materials to canned goods, bags of grain, rice, tools, and a roll top were even several framed windows wrapped to protect the glass. This all made for a somewhat tight squeeze for the two passengers; still it would do as the flight to Nome was short in comparison to their trip had been to Anchorage.

The throaty roar of the engine filled the plane as Buzz gave her full throttle. This plane was good good for short take offs and landings but in this case the asphalt runway was more than sufficient. The engine was much quieter than most turboprops Napoleon had been in.

They were airborne in no time, and the view of the Alaskan landscape was breathtaking. Buzz pointed to his left, spotting a herd of caribou gathered to feed on the grassy tundra. Not far from them were several large brown bears lumbering along, apparently not hunting.

An hour and a half later, they arrived in Nome, tired and hungry. It had indeed snowed but nothing but only a dusting covered the ground. The landing was a little bumpy. Afterwards some more words of warning were offered by Buzz before his passengers proceeded into town.

"There's been some disappearances of people from around Nome, so be careful. FBI was here looking into it, said they were probably victims of alcohol and the winter but…"he whispered under his breath." There's been them UFO's sighted round here and talk of alien abductions. Seen a few of those spooky lights in the sky myself."

Napoleon averted his gaze, not wanting Brown to see the roll of his eyes.

"Gee, thanks for the heads up Buzz, we'll be careful."

They headed to the nearest place they'd been directed to where they could catch a bite to eat.

The place wasn't hard to miss, as it was a two-story vertical clapboard building with a simple neon 'open' sign above the door. A red arrow pointed inside that read 'Cafe.' Direct and to the point.

There were a fair amount of patrons inside the simple establishment seated at half a dozen tables scattered about the room. The flooring was worn, dingy linoleum, and an obvious path lead to the back of the room where a light wood counter with stools was located.

It looked like a combination lunch counter and bar as there were a couple of beer taps behind it, but covered cake and doughnut platters graced one end of it as well.

As the agents entered with their duffels and rifles hanging from their shoulders, all conversation ceased, with every eye in the room focused on Napoleon and Peter.

"Good afternoon," Solo stepped to the counter. "I wonder if you have a menu?"

The dark-haired woman with Inuit features pointed to a chalk board behind her.

His eyebrows raised just slightly as he read the choices...

moose burger, cod sandwich, venison Sloppy Joe, halibut chowder, baked salmon sandwich, all accompanied by the usual sides such as french fries, coleslaw and pickles.

"Kitchen open?" Peter asked, putting on a slight Russian accent.

"Of course it is, otherwise we wouldn't be her," she snickered.

"You fellas ain't from around here," a bearded and near toothless old codger asked; he was seated at the end of the counter with a half empty beer mug in front of him.

"Nope." Napoleon answered.

"Hunting?" Another man asked; suspicion in his eyes..

"Nope." Solo knew to keep his answers short, just like the questions being asked.

"Where you from?"

"Nikolaevsk." Napoleon answered, keeping his demeanor cool and aloof.

"You're pretty far from home. You Rooskies?"

"What of it?" Peter finally spoke up.

"Nothing Mister, don't get your hackles up. Sally who owns this place, she's Rooshin, she might like talking to you, seeing as you're her kind of people."

The tension ceased and everyone went back about their business as abruptly as they'd taken interest in the strangers.

"You fellas wanna eat or not?" The Inuit woman finally spoke again.

"Umm, yeah that would be good. I'll have the baked salmon sandwich, and fries please?" Napoleon said.

"Coleslaw too?"

"Yes and could I have a beer with that?"

"And you?" She spoke to Peter.

"I"ll have the same, thanks."

While they were sipping their beers, waiting for the food, Solo turned to the men seated beside him.

"Is there a flight we can charter? We need to go to Wales."

"No flights today, Mac," the old one said. "Tommy Gunner will be here in the morning. He does a run to Wales and can probably help you out. Why you headed there?"

"Looking for a friend. We lost touch with him and he was headed that way. He heard there was work out there and we were hoping to find some too."

"Ain't too much work out that way that I heard of," the geezer said, taking a last sip from his beer mug. He gestured for the girl to pour him another.

"Jeez, see!" A man named Earl shouted. "Somebody else gone missing? Those damn lights were around in the sky this past week. I bet it was them aliens that did it. Too many people gone missing 'round here."

"Now Bear, there ain't no such thing as aliens. FBI said people just got too liquored up and lost in the cold. Good God man, there's 39 mountain ranges, 3,000 rivers, 5,000 glaciers and more than 3 million lakes, all of 'em have nooks where bodies can slip in and stay hidden forever."

"Nope it's them aliens, believe you me," Earl insisted.

Napoleon couldn't help but join in the conversation."People vanish by accident and by design, whether it's a fluke of nature, or unexpected circumstances. It could be foul play, or just bad luck, but I seriously doubt that aliens have come to Alaska to abduct its residents."

"Where you say you were from again?" Earl asked, giving Solo the stink eye.

"Nikolaevsk."

"You don't sound Rooshin."

" _Pover'te mne, chto ya." (believe me, that I am)_

" _YA slyshal eto. Kto govoril po-russki? ( I heard that. Who spoke in Russian?)_

A blonde woman wearing a green sweat shirt, pants and an apron and a pair of seal skin mukluks on her feet, called out from the kitchen. She was carrying the sandwiches the agents ordered.

"That would be me," Napoleon raised his hand.

" _Otkuda ty? (Where are you from?)_

For the third time Napoleon answered that question.

"Your Russian isn't bad but, you still sound like an American."

"Well I am one," he flashed the patented Solo grin at her.

"And so you are," she laughed." My name is Zoya Yazova, but people here call me Sally."

"Eddie Vasilovich at your service, and this is my friend Peter Galey.

Peter followed Napoleon's lead and smiled at the woman; greeting her in Russian.

"Ahhh, now you have a proper accent. Moskva from the sound of it."

" _Da. Moy otets byl iz Moskva." (Yes. My father was from Moscow)_

"Well here, eat your food before it gets cold. We can talk later, _da?_ " She seemed delighted to have someone with whom she could speak the language.

"Of course," Napoleon took the plate from her, slipping her hand into his and bending forward; he lightly kissed it.

Sally, blushed and hurried back to the kitchen.

The café finally cleared, but Napoleon and Peter remaining at the counter chatting in Russian and English with Sally.

"Will you look at the time?" She gazed at the white clock on the wall."Got to close up. Do you two have a place to stay tonight?"

"No not exactly. We were going to go hunt down a hotel room once we left here."

"Well you'll be piss out of luck, as this place closes at night up tighter than a razor clam. Tell you what, I have a couple of spare cots upstairs, you're welcome to use them boys, and I won't even charge you."

"Spasibo, Zoya. You're an angel of mercy,"Napoleon said.

After they helped her lock up and do a little cleaning, Napoleon and Peter followed her up a dimly lit flight of stairs to the second floor.

The stairwell opened up to a spacious sitting room, the floor covered with a cozy but worn woolen rug, looking like Persian in design. The furniture was primitive, covered with blankets woven in geometric patterns typical of Alaska.

Scattered around the room were little Russian mementos, brightly painted Matryoshka dolls, enameled red and black Khokhloma bowls with matching spoons to name a few.

"Sit down, make yourselves comfortable."

There was a cast iron potbellied stove to one side, and Sally quickly opened the door, placing kindling inside. In no time she had a toasty fire burning.

"It's going to get pretty cold tonight, better to warm things up now. Vodka boys or perhaps tea?"

"Tea would be fine," Peter said, as did Solo.

She proceeded to a polished brass samovar in another corner and went about heating the water for herself and her guests.

Sally poured the tea when it was ready into tea glasses with silver plated holders she'd taken from a cabinet.

"Sugar or jam?"

"Jam please? The men chimed in together. For Peter it was tradition, for Napoleon it was part of his cover, as he'd seen Illya take his tea that way many times.

Peter continued to survey the room; his eyes becoming fixated upon a particular picture she had on the wall.

"Ded Moroz?" He asked.

"Yes it's quite beautiful isn't it?"

Peter nodded his agreement. "It reminds me of something in a book of _skazka (fairy tales)_ my mother used to read to me as a child. I remember a story called 'Morozko and Grandfather Frost."

"Yes, I think is was the story of an old woman who mistreats her step-daughter. Morozko and Ded Moroz come to her rescue."

"I remember it," Peter responded, excitement in his voice. Looking over to Napoleon who seemed a bit lost, he blurted out an explanation. " _Morozko_ is like Jack Frost and _Ded Moroz_ …" He stopped himself, realizing his faux pas.

Sally looked at Solo with an impish smile. "I didn't think you were Russian; your accent was just awful. You are a _cheechako_ aren't you?"

He shrugged his reply. "That's what my friend always tells me about my accent, but you can't blame a guy for trying." Napoleon ignored her calling him a greenhorn.

"It's none of my business why you are masquerading...though you Peter I think are not. I heard you need to go to Wales, but there is nothing there, no work."

"No, not for work. We're actually going to Little Diomede as my friend...his name is Illya, was working there and has gone missing. There's some unsavory types who are up to no good on the island and we've been sent to stop them. Perhaps they're behind these mysterious disappearances as well."

"I understand, there have been rumors about odd goings on there. Enough said. In the morning I will radio Tommy Gunner. He'll take you to Wales and from there you can go to Diomede by helicopter with Bobby Boucher. He'll be making his run there with supplies tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you again... _spasibo_ Zoya," Napoleon finished his tea.

"Now off to bed you two. It will be an early day for you, and your trip to Wales may not be an easy one if the weather turns."

She showed them to the back room and their cots, tossing them some extra blankets.

" _Spokoynoy nochi vam oboim." (Good night you two)_ Sally closed the door with a smile. It was nice to have company, even if they were up to something; yet she felt in her heart they were good men.


	3. Chapter 3

After arriving at Anchorage; not wanting to waste time, Illya Kuryakin immediately chartered a flight with one of the local bush pilots. Their destination was the small town of Wales located along the coast of Cape Prince of Wales, on the western tip of the Seward Peninsula, and the closest bit of civilization to Little Diomede.

He'd done some reading on the flight up from what Alaskans called the lower 48; Cape Prince of Wales was the terminus of the Continental Divide, marking the division between the Pacific and Arctic coasts, as well as marking the limit between the Bering Sea and the Chukchi Sea. It was the eastern boundary of the Bering Strait, 51 miles opposite Cape Dezhnev, and the closest location adjacent to the Diomede Islands.

From there it was just over 25 miles across the water to Little Diomede but Kuryakin's options were limited as to how to get there. By sea was out of the question as stormy seas were common in the area, often battering the island's rocky shores. It made travel to and from Diomede next to impossible at times. As his usual ill-luck would have, this was one of them. There were no ships traveling anywhere near the island because of the rough seas. Winter was approaching as well as the sea ice.

He learned of a helicopter shuttle that flew once a week doing a mail run and seeing to some needs of the islanders, but it wouldn't arrive until the end of the week...he couldn't wait that long. He was sure THRUSH provided their own mode of transportation, no doubt ignoring the local population's needs, but still that would do him no good.

Illya was tired, but pushed on; he grabbed a quick bite to eat...a moose burger with fries and a beer at a rural café located at the edge of town, overlooking the water.

The cold temperatures reminded him of home, and for a brief moment Illya let himself reminisce. Though life growing up in the Soviet Union for him was not all that happy, there were still moments which would still bring a smile to his face. There were days he would play with baby sister Katiya back behind the little red dacha they called home; usually it was tag, or chasing one of the chickens who'd escaped from the coop. He remembered Papa taking him hunting in such weather, even fishing in the Dneiper river before it froze over.

As he looked out at the view he could see a pod of humpback whales circling as they fed in the bay surrounded by a flock of screaching gulls, hoping to join in the bounty. It was a thrilling sight, one he hadn't seen since his days in the navy, but he was not there for the view. His gaze shifted to a single engine red and white seaplane moored at a small dock.

He finished the rest of his food, swallowing the last of his beer and headed out the door, down towards the dock.

After a quick negotiation with the pilot who simply called himself 'Wings,' they took off for Little Diomede. It wasn't a usual place that he flew, but as a bush pilot, a fare was a fare.

The trip was short, and the plane landed near the rocky shore line below the town of Diomede. There was no dock, and Illya had to dance along the rocky shore line until he made it to terra firma. He turned and gave Wings a thumbs up, watching as the plane moved away, finally gaining enough speed to glide across the water untill it took off.

The water's edge was littered with detritus that most likely washed up in the rough waters that surrounded the island and made for a dreary, unwelcome sight.

Just off shore, several walruses, their heads bobbing up and down in the water, watched with curiosity.

The village hung on the side of a two-and-half square mile rock island scattered with boulders, where a slope of 45 degrees was considered gentle. That didn't allow for a landing strip and the wind was near constant, strong, and cold.

There were no roads and barely foot trails as Illya climbed up the stony incline towards the village, seeing most of the weather-worn houses half supported on stilts, since the ground they were built upon was far from level.

He knew from his briefing packet that Diomede consisted of thirty or so homes, storage buildings and nothing else but a school and a few semi-official buildings, though there was little to indicate any sort of governmental condition of many of the houses spoke poverty to him.

To his left he got a better look at a large, circular structure resembling a silo of sorts but wider, and not far from it was a helipad. This was the THRUSH addition to the landscape, of that he was sure.

As he entered the town he saw no one walking about; a few eyes gazed out from their windows before quickly closing their curtains, but a single brave soul opened what passed for a door and spoke to him.

It was made out of two pieces of plywood nailed together with two by twos and two by fours, and just a little piece of wire for a latch; this in a place where it could be 45 degrees below zero with the wind blowing from 60 to 80 knots for weeks at a time.

"You need some help Mister?" She was pretty, dark haired and her features hinted at having Inuit blood. Dressed in a heavy wool sweater, corduroy pants, boots and a thick red knit scarf wrapped around her neck; it accentuated the blush of her cheeks.

His needing a shave and the fact he was a bit disheveled from his travels made him look somewhat needy, he supposed. A few days growth of beard tended to give him a gaunt appearance and his tired blue eyes had a forlorn look to them.

"Please, I heard there is work here?" He let his native accent slip out.

" _Vy russkiy." (You are Russian)_

" _Da."_

"Quickly, come inside," she cautiously looked about before waving him through the door with her hand,

Once inside Illya introduced himself as Nicholaí Semyonovich Dezhnev, telling the woman he was born in Uelen in the Soviet Union but lived here in Alaska most of his life... in many places as his family tended to be nomadic, preferring to live the solitary life of bush people. He'd last lived in Ketchikan, in the southern part of the state. He was here now in Diomede because he'd heard there was work, for good pay.

Uelen was famous for its walrus carvings, and Illya conveniently pulled a leather string out of from beneath his green and black flannel shirt. On it hung an old miniature carving of an arctic eagle. He'd picked it up in a trading post in Anchorage, thinking it might come in handy in backing up his cover story.

"This belonged to my father Semyon Ilyich."

"It is beautiful Nicholaí. My name is Irina Lezarev, but folks here call me Ivy."

Illya glanced around, noting the house, if you could call it that, was quite small though it had two stories. Plain wood floors with a couple of throw rugs; the walls were covered by light colored wood paneling. A framed portrait of Jesus hanging beside a gun rack where several old Winchester rifles were nestled, no doubt for hunting seals, or even perhaps the stray polar bear.

There was the smell of mold, perhaps rotting wood along with the scent of kerosene from a Monitor...an oil burning heater, which sat in one corner of the room, The flue pipe ran up through the ceiling to the second floor and of course through the roof.

The furnishings were primitive, with a simple table and chairs, and a worn sofa. He noted there was a bookcase with a good number of books and magazines. He forced himself not to smile, as the simplicity of the place reminded him of his own apartment.

In front of one window stood an antiquated sewing machine, the kind run by pumping pedals with one's feet. Next to it sat a large sewing basket, and another basket filled will balls of wool, and knitting needles.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ivy. I noticed you were a little nervous before asking me inside. Is there something going on?"

"They're keeping an eye on us. They're very aware of us, as we are very aware of them."

"And who are they to whom you are referring?"

"The people who came here just over six months ago; they're the ones who are hiring. Some of the men from the village took on work to build that...'thing' near the helipad. A few of them have disappeared and now outsiders such as yourself have started showing up. Some have disappeared as well. There's tunnels down there being dug into the bedrock, but I don't know how they're doing it, or so I hear. No one could ever lay pipes for plumbing because of the permafrost, that's what we were told by the government."

"Disappear?" He ignored what she said about the tunnels for the moment.

"People go down to work in there, and don't come back up."

Illya's placid gaze changed as he raised his eyebrows.

"Ivy, I am sure there is nothing ominous going on," Illya lied, knowing it was for the best.

He looked her straight in the eyes as he spoke."They are probably just working hard at whatever it is they are doing. If they are working on some sort of tunnels, it will be difficult to cut into the bedrock of the island as you said because of the permafrost. Perhaps they are working on a way of installing pipes for the village?" His lies were smooth and they made her trust him. He could see by her reaction.

"You sound like you know what you're talking about. Are you some sort of engineer?"

"I have many talents working with machinery, as well as with wood."

The young woman gave a long sigh, composing herself before changing the subject.


	4. Chapter 4

The wiley Kuryakin flashed his most sincere look to Irina Lezarev, and using those baby blues of his that had send chills down an enemy's spine; he easily swayed her, even though he was a complete stranger to her.

Like Napoloeon, Illya had his powers of persuasion, though he rarely used them to seduce a woman.

"Ivy, I am sure there is nothing ominous going on," he lied, knowing it was for the best.

"You think so?"

"What else could it be but that? I am sure the government does not want to get the village's hopes up about laying pipes, yes?"

She smiled at that as plumbing would be wonderful. "But where are my manners? Could I offer you some tea? It's a chilly day out there and I think some snow's on the way. You have somewhere to stay?"

He finally let a half-smile escape at his success at winning her over so quickly. "No, I have just gotten here. I will need to find that as well as where people are being hired."

"Well I have a spare room I can rent you for a fair price...and only rent mind you, no funny business."

"I was not planning on it." He allowed himself to blush ever so slightly.

"Oh I apologize, I didn't mean to insinuate…"

"I was not offended so your apology is unnecessary. Now that tea would be good…if you do not mind?"

He followed her into the kitchen, checking it over as well.

"Outhouse is out back but when it gets too cold, well a bucket is a bucket," she spoke matter of factly.

Illya he cringed at the thought of going out in sub-zero temperatures to relieve himself in an outhouse; though that too brought back memories of his childhood home again, unpleasant ones at that.

The family dacha outside of Kyiv had no such thing as indoor plumbing, but the family managed. He did remember his home was warm and full of love, until the war came.

Kurakin seated himself at another small table with only two chairs while Ivy prepared to make their tea.

The kitchen had a sink, a small counter on which to work, and an oil stove. A small refrigerator most likely run on a generator outside the old house. The doorless cabinets on one wall were stocked with canned goods, and two loaves of Wonder Bread sat on the counter.

In a corner were stacked several large sacks of flour, rice and beans. There was a large plastic drum that housed her water.

Ivy saw him looking at her water barrel. "Fresh water comes from a spring, but it's unreliable. By late winter we have to melt snow for drinking."

The walls had the same paneling as the sitting room, and most likely it was used throughout the entire place, helping to insulate.

"This was my grandfather's house," Ivy said, striking up a conversation as she watched him looking about. She plugged in an electric kettle to boil the water, no doubt a luxury.

"It was built in the19th century when the island was used as a weigh station for whalers, but those days are long gone. Electric's run by a main generator that takes care of this part of the village, but you probably already guessed that. I only use it for the lights and making my tea," she chuckled. "Oil lamps suit me well enough to read by, and they help warm up the place."

"Do you work here on the island?"

"Yes, I'm the teacher; only six students right now ranging from pre-school age to early teens."

He nodded his approval, now understanding the amount of books she had on her shelves in the sitting room.

"Well let's get you settled," Ivy slapped her hands on her thight as she stood.

Illya was shown to his room; it was no surprise that it was simple like the rest of the house.

"It's not much, but you'll be warm, and you can take your meals here too."

"Thank you, that will be fine."

A cot, beside it a nightstand whith an oil lamp on it; he knew that smell instantly... seal oil. Making that was hard work as it required hunting. The meat would be allowed to freeze and the blubber pounded with a hammer, and as it melted the oil oozed out.

He recalled during the 'Yukon Affair,' Murphy had told him once that was how it was done.* Blubber, ugh...not exactly one of his favorite foods either.

There was no closet, not that he needed one, just a rickety chest of drawers standing against one wall, with a pitcher and a wash basin atop it along with a neatly folded white towel.

A flue pipe from the kitchen stove ran up through the floor and out the ceiling...this would be the only source of heat in the room.

Several heavy wool blankets were layered on top of the bed. He drew back the curtains on the only window, gazing out at the silo, finally seeing people walking behind it out of view and presumed the entrance was there. Illya returned his attention to his room, spotting a framed photograph, the only thing hanging on walls.

It was of Ivy and a dark-haired young man.

"That was my brother Randy," she explained."This was his room."

"Was?"

"He's dead. Killed while out on the ice. He was hauling in blue king crab two years ago. He'd done good, caught about seventy but he got greedy and set more crab pots. The sea ice broke and he drowned." She said it matter of factly with no show of emotion.

"You have my condolences."

"Hey life out here is hard...I still miss him though. Well, let me leave you unpack. I have to get supper started anyway."

He dropped his duffel on the bed, not bothering to unpack except for removing a heavier jacket, gloves and a knit cap. Illya drew his communicator from shirt pocket.

"Open Channel D-Waverly."

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin, what have you to report?"

"I have arrived at the island sir. The place reeks of poverty and it is no wonder THRUSH is taking advantage of the people here. A local has indicated to me that several of the islanders have disappeared along with some outsiders who also came here to work. I will be leaving to seek employment with our feathered friends as soon as we are done speaking."

"Very well. I'll expect your report in five hours and young man, be careful."

"That is the plan sir. Kuryakin out."

He tucked away his communicator and after going downstairs, he got the directions from Ivy to the a place called the 'Diomede Native Store.' Next door to it a THRUSH representative had set up shop in a trailer that had been helicoptered in from the mainland. They were always there until after dark.

He headed outside, flipping up his collar and hugging himself as the wind had picked up. Illya stepped towards a well worn trail that would take him to the other end of the village; looking upwards as he moved, having been warned by Ivy about sticking to the trail.

"Don't go near 'the castle' she called it, cautioning him. After giving Illya the details behind her warning; Ivy reminded him there'd be halibut chowder and biscuits for supper.

"Sounds good," he answered her, still looking quite serious."I look forward to sampling your cooking." With that he turned and walked with purpose along the trail.

The castle was a series of jagged rock outcroppings located on the upper west side of the island. Located close to the site of a plane crash and even closer to the legend of a woman who climbed up there one day carrying her baby. When she slipped on loose rocks, she fell and was cut in half by the rocks, according to the myth.

It was also not far from the local graveyard, full of wooden crosses and small boxes for the bodies, which could not be buried in the island's rocky soil. The same rocky spot was close to an area she called _Siniktawik_ in Inuit _,_ which was a sitting place, a good spot to watch for polar bears wandering across the sea ice when the waters froze.

Once he was hired, and he had no doubt that he would; he had no plans to go anywhere but to that silo unless a sudden circumstance took him elsewhere.

Illya wandered along through the village, using a small flashlight to keep him from losing his footing until he looked up, seeg the horizon was suddenly illuminated with bright reds, yellows and greens against the deep blue star-filled sky. It was the aurora borealis.

Though he knew it was merely a phenomenon which took place whenever solar winds and charged particles collided with the earth's atmosphere, that at the moment was immaterial to him.

The sight was breathtaking, he'd forgotten how beautiful it was. There were so many things on the assignment that brought back memories for him both bad and good.

Illya paused for a moment, taking it in before making his way toward the silo to check on the location of the entrance. Once confirming his suspicions, he headed to the trailer. It wasn't hard to find as it was the most modern thing there in the antiquated village..

He paused as he reached for the door knob, taking a deep breath as he readied himself before entering.


	5. Chapter 5

Little Diomede appeared in the distance as a bleak, forbidding island, rugged yet resisting the gales which swept through the straits from the arctic into the Bering sea.

Solo couldn't imagine living in such a desolate place and assumed those who chose to do so were made of sterner stuff.

At the moment the island was partly enveloped in a light mist, as bits of the great wind-driven ice floes were beginning to drift against its rocky shore line, causing the temperatures clash.

They could make out the helipad and a few of the houses partially built on stilts, going up and incline like bits of vine and of course the massive circular structure that had to be the missile silo.

Peter, looking down to the water below, pointing out some variety of whale as they broke the water's surface with their blow holes. Walrus and seal herds were gathered in large numbers farther up the shore, a fair distance away from the human inhabitants. Countless birds flew about, most likely migrating to and from both Big and Little Diomede, and probably the few who could travel back and forth, unhindered

Not being very far from the larger island...just over two miles; Napoleon could make out the Soviet base located there. From intelligence reports, it was inhabited by approximately one hundred or so soldiers, there to make sure there was no unauthorized travel between the islands when the channel that separated both Diomedes froze over in the bitter temperatures of winter.

The native inhabitants of the bigger island under Soviet jurisdiction, had long since been moved to the mainland in order to avoid contacts across the border, making them simply another group of dispossessed and disenfranchised people.

The helicopter landing was quick and Bobby Boucher managed it with great skill. He wished his passengers luck at whatever it was they sought, and took off moments later, his new destination unknown to the agents.

The remaining mist gave the agents a bit of coverage making their arrival less obvious, and for the moment that was fortuitous until they had the lay of the land. They passed the ominous-looking silo, but it was too soon to try to infiltrate it; better to wait until darkness could afford them better cover.

They made their way up the slope; Napoleon imagining that Illya had done the same when he arrived. Yet as they wandered through the village, the two men couldn't help but sense something was off.

There were no people going about their daily business. It was cold yes, but still life had to go on in spite of that, or had THRUSH done something to the inhabitants here?

Though it was daylight, it was a dark and dreary day and as they continued on Solo and Galey came upon a small shop called the 'Diomede Native Store', and seeing lights on inside, Napoleon and Peter decide to begin their inquiries within.

" _Ainngai,_ " the proprietor greeted them in Inuit at first, but sensing they didn't understand he switched to Russian and finally English.

"You fellas just passing through?" It was an odd question given Little Diomede was pretty much the end of the line.

"Actually we're trying to locate a friend of ours." Napoleon drew a black and white photo of Kuryakin from his coat pocket, showing it to the man. "He contacted us saying there was work here to be had."

"Your friends of Nicholaí? Only been here a few days. He went down to work in 'that' place," Oki pointed with his thumb out the window behind him indicating the silo. "Word is he never came back out."

"No one's seen him since?" Peter asked.

"Happend to a few people. Don't know what's going on down there but can't be safe. You not really thinking of trying to work for the strangers too are you?"

"As a matter of fact we are. Maybe we'll run into our buddy. Where do we go to get hired," Napoleon asked. He had picked up a small carving on one of the shelves, looking like bone of some sort; I was the likeness of a polar bear.

He carefully put it back, returning his attention to the shopkeeper.

The man's demeanor changed at his warning being taken lightly. "They do hiring next door in the trailer, but don't say I didn't warn you." He leaned forward on the counter, lowering his voice as he continued to speak.

"They watching us. Bad things happen to people who go work for them. Your friend was renting room at Irina Lezarev's. She's school teacher here; maybe she tell you more."

"And where's her house?" Napoleon whispered back.

"Oh she not home right now. She at the school. It the little cinderblock building with red roof at end of village. That way." He again pointed with his thumb, but now to the left.

"Much obliged Mr…?," Solo nodded as he ushered Peter towards the door.

"Oki Nauja. I am named for seagull who flies above ocean. I am the _angakkuq._.. shaman here, though I have found Jesus, I still believe in power of the spirits. Shaman is counselor and healer; I talk with the spirits. They angry at the strangers and they watching them. The lights in the sky tell me that. Maybe the _Tuurngait_ are helping the strangers too. I not know for sure."

" _Tuurngait_? Solo asked.

"They spirits. Tuurngait can be good and bad. I think bad ones down there," he again pointed to the silo.

"Thanks for you help," Napoleon nodded, taking what the man said with a grain of salt as he nudged Peter out the door.

"There's that talk of those lights again," Galey whispered."I wonder if they're related to what our feathered friends are up to?"

"Good question Pete, in the mean time let's hold off on going to the hiring office. I want to talk to that school teacher first to see what she knows about Illya."

Just as they reached the simple building that served as a one room schoolhouse, a group of laughing children charged out the door.

Some of them looked to be Inuit, and a few of mixed blood, most likely of Russian descent.

"Whoa, easy there kiddies,"Solo laughed as he dodged out of the way.

"What do you say children?" A dark-haired woman spoke as she stood in the doorway, watching after them.

"Sorry Mister," the children spoke in unison.

"No harm," Napoleon replied.

"Now off with you. Don't dawdle, and stay away from the water or the _Qalupalik_ will get you.

 _Qalupalik is a legend told by Inuit parents and elders to prevent children from wandering too close to the shore. They are human-like creatures who live in the sea. They have long hair, green skin and long fingernails and carry away babies and children who disobey their parents or wander off alone. They take them underwater and adopt them as their own. Qalupalik make a distinctive humming sound, and the elders have said you can hear the Qalupalik when they are near._

"If you hear that humming sound, run straight home," their teacher ordered.

"You must Miss Lezarev?" Napoleon asked.

"That's right, but folks around here just call me Ivy, and you are?"

"What humming sound Ivy?"

"Comes from down there," she pointed in the direction of the silo.

Solo's brow furrowed as he cast a glance toward Peter. "My name is Eddie Vasilovich, and this is Peter Galey. We were told by Oki from the Native shop that you rented a room to a friend of ours. His name is Nick Dezhnev and we're trying to locate him."

Ivy's face paled, and she quickly ushered them inside the school.

"Look, I have bad news for you. Nicholaí disappeared, never came back. I last saw him two days ago. He was hired to work for those people and like a few others, he's disappeared. I tried to warn him about that, but he wouldn't listen to me. Please don't tell me you're looking for work too?"

"Well not exactly. We're looking to find out what 'those' people are up to, that's sort of what our friend was doing here as well, but then he…"

"I understand. I had a feeling he wasn't just here for the work. You two look tired, and I'll bet hungry. You're welcome to come back to my place for something to eat. I have a big pot of halibut chowder and homemade bread, and I can make a pot of hot coffee."

"Sounds good to me," Napoleon nodded, winking to Peter. He was ready to get out of the cold and formulate a plan of action.

They followed Ivy to her house and like Illya they were shocked at the poor living conditions there on the island. Napoleon corrected his earlier assumption about these people, they were far beyond being made of sterner stuff. How they could survive these living conditions, and want to stay here boggled the mind.

While supper was warming, he was shown to Illya's room and was able go through his partner's duffel bag. The explosives were still there...that wasn't a good sign, but on the bright side at least the Thrushies hadn't thought of ransacking Ivy's house. This was now doubling the amount of C-4 they had to take out the silo and whatever else was there.

After a hearty meal they spoke more to Ivy about the traffic to and from the island, as well as the disappearances. It seemed to her that tt was always the smart ones who disappeared. There'd been enough people gone missing to scare off the locals from doing anymore work, and now folks mostly stayed inside. They were afraid.

She too mentioned strange lights in the sky, inexplicable to the locals. There were those like Oki Nauja who believed in the old legends and ways, insisting the gods had been angered by the strangers taking up residence on the island. She didn't believe the lights were spirits, but their presence, like the strangers, made her uneasy.

There was talk of tunnels being dug, but no one knew for sure. Ivy mentioned Nicholaí's suggestion that these people might be trying to dig in the permafrost to lay pipes for plumbing and such, but she doubted it was true. Though he'd hinted it was perhaps the government doing work to improve life on the island, she really didn't believe that either. There were just too many strange things happening.

"Ivy I'm going to confide in you," Napoleon said. "My name isn't Eddie Vasilovich; it's Solo, Napoleon Solo. Peter and I work for an international peacekeeping organization called the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Nicholaí's real name is Illya Kuryakin; he's my partner. He was sent to find out what those people are doing on your island."

"You see," Peter continued," They are from an organization called THRUSH...it stands for Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity."

"To put it simply, they're an evil organization who wants to rule the world," Napoleon said." It's our fear that what they've built out there is a missile silo for a rocket with a nuclear capability to be be fired at the Soviet Union; thereby starting World War III. THRUSH will sit back and wait while the United States and the Soviet Union destroy each other, and simply step in to pick up the pieces, and of course take control."

"You've got to be kidding me right?"Ivy gulped down a mouthful of coffee.

"No I kid you not," Napoleon pulled out his gold ID card, showing it to her, and letting her catch a glimpse of his Special hidden beneath his jacket.

"Wow, you are for real...and Nick, I mean your friend Illya and the others might be in big trouble I bet. We have to do something about it." She stood up, walking into her sitting room, taking one of her rifles down from the gun rack.

"Ivy, I think we can handle this ourselves and don't need you to take up arms just yet," Napoleon gingerly took the Remington from her and returned it to the gun rack. "What you can do for us is to help create a diversion, say after dark? Something that will help distract people and draw them away from around the silo. That'll give me and Peter time to get down into that thing and do what we have to do."

"I have an idea," Ivy smiled as she lit an oil lamp. "It's already sunset, so I can manage something for you say in an hour. If the aurora is back tonight, that'll add to the distraction."

"What are you going to do?"Galey asked.

"You'll know when it happens,"Ivy winked."Just be ready when it does."

Napoleon smiled at Peter. Leave it to Illya to find the smartest woman on the island...


	6. Chapter 6

After staring at the blond Russian, the hiring agent finally spoke."You'll do," He was a typical feathered lackey, with seemingly no room in his head for an intelligent thought.

Kuryakin was surprised at the ease with which he was hired. There seemed to be no interest in his background, so at this point it was unnecessary for him to repeat his cover story. Illya initially stood in front of the desk belonging to the man in charge, hat in hand, trying to look like he was desperate for work.

Compared to Ivy's home, this trailer where THRUSH had set up business was the lap of luxury, fully carpeted, though there was a large roll of carpet laying unused, off to one side. There were several kerosene heaters burning away. The walls had to be insulated, given how cozy it felt. There was a coffee maker, a small refrigerator whirring away as well. They did like their creature comforts.

It seemed they were only concerned with his skills. No filling out of paperwork and he was told he'd be paid in cash once a month. The rate per hour was well above the minimum wage, for that reason it was a wonder not many others had not been attracted to Diomede. Had it not been for the remoteness of the location and difficult to get to, more men in search of work might have arrived here.

"What exactly will I be doing?" Illya asked.

"For now, carpentry." He snapped his fingers at the other man sitting in the room. "Take Mr. Denning to…"

"Dezhnev, my name is Nicholaí Dezhnev," Illya corrected him.

"Whatever. Take Mr. _Dezhnev_ to the shed to start work."

"Again may I ask what it is I will be doing?"

"You'll be cutting and assembling wooden supports. The exact dimensions of which will be supplied to you, along with the necessary tools. Now does that answer your question?"

"But…"

"You want the job or not buddy?"

"Yes I do, and thank you for the clarification." This was too easy, and that made Illya more wary than usual. He was already on edge, but now felt the need to maintain an even higher state of alertness, especially if he were to make it down into the belly of the beast that was the silo.

The shed he was led to was filled with lumber, mostly four by fours and heavy plywood. Though there was a large supply of railroad ties as well. Such abundance would have been a boon to the locals, even the scraps, but he was told no one was to touch a thing.

The shed was only a stone's through from the backside of the silo, allowing him to watch people as they entered and left. The door was surprisingly left unguarded, though he had no idea if there was one just inside.

As he'd been told, there were instructions giving measurements at precisely how these wooden supports were to be cut and measured. Once he'd assembled a few he knew exactly what they were for... there had to be a lot of them to use in tunnels cut into the permafrost as the ground could consist of many substrate materials, including bedrock, sediment, organic matter, water or ice.

There could very easily be a collapse if the temperatures within the tunnels increased, causing thawing.

Though the shack was unheated, Illya found himself needing to remove his heavy jacket and hat as the work was warming him up.

The work was tiring as he had only hand saws, hammers and nails with which to work. No power tools such as a circular saw, that would have made make the job much quicker to do.

No one ever said THRUSH was an organization of smart people, though they themselves thought they were.

It was pure elbow grease that was needed on the Russian's part and even though he was in good physical condition, the repetitive motion of the hand saw and use of certain muscles left him sore and tired.

He would be glad to get back to Ivy's and eat a good meal, as the last time he'd eaten was breakfast. There were no lunch breaks; he was expected to keep working until dusk. There were no arrangements for lighting in the shed either, for which he was thankful as Illya had no desire to work into the night.

Once his shift was over he checked in at the office to punch his time card and left, heading back to Ivy's house. Other than his sore muscles and back, at least he had accomplished his surveillance of the entry to the silo.

Tomorrow he would make his move to get inside, since no one supervised him at the shed and workers only came to pick up the finished supports every two hours. That was it, the window of opportunity he had to work with and he planned to make the best of it.

He knocked at Ivy's door as a courtesy. It was still her house after all and he was greeted by her with a big smile.

"You've all right. I'm glad." She waved him inside. "You're just in time for supper. It's nice and hot. I figured you'd be pretty hungry as I'm presuming you got hired?"

Illya removed his coat, hat and gloves; Ivy taking them and hanging them on a hook on the wall.

He followed her into the kitchen. "Yes, they have me doing carpentry work at present in a shed. I have to admit, it was pretty tiring. Tomorrow will loosen up my sore muscles, I am sure. Hmm, something smells good, and yes I am starving. No lunch."

"Oh I forgot to pack you one. I'm sorry. Tomorrow you'll have food I promise. Now sit, relax a minute," she poured him a hot cup of tea while she readied his plate.

She piled the food on, a healthy portion of stew meat with potatoes and carrots. There was a plateful of hot biscuits and butter.

"That ought to do you to start," she smiled." You need to put some meat on those bones of yours."

She prepared a plate for herself and sat across from him at the kitchen table.

Illya refrained from eating until she was ready and after bowing her head in thanks, she looked at him. He was no ordinary worker, this one had manners and was raised right. She sensed something was different about Nicholaí, but refrained from judgement until she got to know him a little better.

Illya dug in, practically inhaling his meal." This is delicious. What is the meat, may I ask?"

"Polar bear. Oki, my friend who owns the native shop shot it not too long ago and gave me some of the meat. He said the bear was injured, maybe by an orca so he said it was a gift from the spirits to the bear that his life was ended quickly, and his meat would go to feel the people. We don't get bear meat that often so it's a treat."

She noticed his plate was nearly empty. "Help yourself to more. I made extra."

"No, thank you. I would not want to presume.'

"Don't be ridiculous." Ivy got up and took the pot from the stove, ladeling a large second helping onto his plate.

"Now eat. You'll need it for tomorrow. Working in the cold needs a lot of fuel for your body. I'll slice up some of the meat and make you a couple of sandwiches for tomorrow and give you a thermos full of hot tea."

"Ivy I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. Here, before I forget, let me pay you the rent for the month." Illya pulled out his wallet and handed her one hundred forty in twenty dollar bills.

"Nicholaí this is too much. I told you three dollars a day."

"I am eating your food and it will cost you fuel to run a second heater, please do not argue with me?"

The look in his blue eyes told her just to go along with him. Again it struck her there was something odd about her new tenant. If he were hard pressed looking for work as he first let on to be, then why was he being so generous with his cash? The strangers only paid their workers once a month so that couldn't be it. Something just didn't add up but still she said nothing.

"Oki said it was a good omen, me taking you in. He's the village shaman and believes in those sort of things. He says the spirit lights in the sky told him, said one of the lights was hovering over my house."

"Spirit lights? Do you really believe that is what they are?" Illya had seen some of these lights in the sky while traveling to Diomede, and he'd heard locals talking about them and thinking they were responsible for people disappearing. Back in New York such lights were called UFO's, though Kuryakin hardly believed they were spacecraft piloted by little green men as said by some.

"We've been seeing a lot of them lately, come to think of it, they started showing up when the strangers came. Gee I wonder if there's any correlation?" Ivy shrugged it off. "I don't believe they're spirits like Oki does...I think they're just a natural phenomenon like the aurora borealis."

Illya nodded his agreement with her. He liked his lady; she was intelligent and a survivor in this harsh environment. She was doing good by teaching the children and helping her community.

They chatted a bit more, with Ivy saying it looked like snow was coming. Nicholaí agreed with her, telling her how his babushka had taught him as a child to predict the weather. The air had a different smell to it when snow was on the way, everything was different...the clouds, how animals behaved.

Ivy smiled at hearing that. She decided she liked Nicholaí Semyonovich, even though some things about him didn't add up.

Illya helped her clear the table and do the dishes, then bid her goodnight as his aching muscles were longing for sleep.

The effort it took as he slowly climbed the stairs to his room told how tired he really was, but that would change tomorrow when he made it down into the silo. Once he got the lay of the land, he'd return to set his charges. That was his plan for now.

He changed into an old pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt; slipping into his bed with a sigh. Illya pulled the layers of blankets about him, forcing himself to not fall asleep just yet. He needed to go over his plans in his head, making sure they were sensible. He'd need his Special, communicator and a mini transmitter dish he could use to send any images he took with a special camera lense embedded in his communicator. The explosives he'd brought with him could wait for now.

The curtains to his window were open and he could see snowflakes beginning to fall; that made him smile. He used to lay in his bed as a child in the dacha back home, watching the snow fall outside. It was so cold the windows would eventually frost over; still he was nice and snug in his feather bed after his mother had tucked him in under the covers.

His thoughts came back to the present as the wind whistled. Though there was a heater to warm the place, it was still chilly as the house was poorly insulated. He rolled to his side, finally letting sleep take him.

After a good night's rest Illya washed himself as best he could using the basin in his room. The ice cold water was a reminder of his not so distant past; there was never hot water when he was growing up in the orphanage, nor in his assigned quarters as a student and finally as an agent for GRU. Hell, he was lucky there was enough food to eat...

After dressing, he trotted downstairs, finding Ivy in the kitchen.

"Sit. Breakfast is ready."

"How did you know…?"

"I'm up early and I could hear you walking around. Used to drive my brother crazy, I guess it was like intuition. Anyway, I have to get ready for school; the kids get there early enough. I usually bring some extra peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the ones who don't have enough to eat."

"That is very kind of you Ivy." He dug into the large bowl of oatmeal she'd made, smiling as there were some sultanas in it. He sipped a large mug of tea, relishing its warmth.

"How could I not do it? This is our home and we help each other. Speaking of help, I have a feeling...that's why you're here. I thought about it and maybe Oki is right, you're coming is a good omen."

"Hmm," Illya smiled." I have never been called that before. He put on his outerwear and before heading out the door Ivy handed him a small canvas bag, in it was his lunch. "Your sandwich and thermos; there's some dried apricots wrapped in wax paper… I'll see you at suppertime. We're having opilio crab with seasoned rice, and nice hot seafood chowder."

"Thank you Ivy, sounds wonderful. May you have a good day with the children."

He closed the door behind himself, taking a deep breath before heading off to the shed. A light layer of snow covered the ground and he listened as it crunched beneath his feet. It was his habit to tread lightly, but he still needed to move carefully as the path was uneven and with the snow, it could be slippery to walk upon it.

He arrived at his destination and after getting his tools out, he set to work making the next batch of supports. Right on time, the Thrushies arrived to pick them up, and that was his cue. He had a two hour window to get into the silo to survey the situation, get out and back to make more supports. That batch would be a bit short so he'd need an excuse. He'd worry about that when it happened.

Illya left the shed, thankful it had begun to snow again and it acted to give him a bit of cover. It might also drive people indoors so no one would be out and about to see him.

He walked down the makeshift stairs that had been made from bits of rock, and carefully approached the door with his Special drawn but held out of sight.

Taking hold of the handle he slowly opened the door, peeking around it before entering. The coast was clear.

There was an incandescent lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, part of a strand of lights that illuminated the way down a flight of wooden stairs.

He stepped inside, holding his gun at the ready now and descended the stairs, hoping nothing would creak. As he went lower there was more lights and that was when he saw it.

There was a large silver rocket below, with three workmen toiling their way around it.

Illya quickly pulled his communicator and snapped a photo of it with his new camera. His head jerked as he heard the sound of footsteps coming up towards him.

Hurrying up the stairs and out of the silo, he carefully climbed the crude stone steps outside and returned to the shed. There he quickly set up his mini satellite dish, and prepared to send the image to headquarters in New York.

"Open Channel D."

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin," Wavely responded. "I was beginning to become concerned as your report is late. What news have you?"

"Sir, I must be brief. I made it down into what was presumed a missile silo here. What I surmised was correct, though it is a restricted area I was able to take a photograph of a missile installed there. I am sending you the image via satellite."

"Very good Mr. Kuryakin. I will expect your next communication in a timely fashion then?"

"Yes sir,"Illya sighed. "Kuryakin out." Though Mr. Waverly liked things to be so, it wasn't always possible to check-in on schedule. THRUSH had a way of interfering with one's communications more often than not.

Illya stashed his equipment and got back to the task at hand of building yet more supports. When the Thrushies arrived they were armed and that made him a little concerned. They immediately commented on the fact he didn't have enough supports completed.

"I umm, hit my hand with my hammer and umm, it was a bit swollen so I had to ice it for a while. It is fine now."Illya wiggled his fingers to demonstrate that fact.

"You nail benders are all the same," one of them remarked.

Kuryakin had never heard that term before but he dared not question what it meant. He was supposed to be a carpenter and should be aware of such a name, no doubt meant to be something derogatory.

"Well here's your chance to take a break. Mr. Wynn, the man who hired you, said you stated you were good with machinery. Where'd you learn to work with equipment?"

"I was machinist in Navy."

"Which Navy?

"Soviet, of course," Illya stated, his face remaining completely deadpan.

"Oh so you're a dyed in the wool commie... _comrade._ "

"And what of it?" Illya asked, being a little belligerent."Do you not have an engineer on site…" Illya bit his tongue hoping he hadn't said too much, maybe sounding too smart for his own good.

"Our guy is off to the mainland. So you good with machinery or not?"

"Depends on the machinery."

"Can you fix a generator?"

"I can try. Where is it?"

"Down there but we're going to check with the boss first."

"If it helps...my family defected from Soviet Union to escape communism. Came here to America to be free."

The Thrush guards look at each other with a snicker.

Fifteen minutes later one of them returned with the okay, presumably from Popsuy.

"Follow me," the goon in charge ordered.

This could either be a boon to Kuryakin or a big problem. Ivy warned that people who went down there didn't come back, and he hoped he wouldn't be one of them.

He walked between his two escorts through the entrance, but only one of them guided him down the stairs; he couldn't help but glance at the rocket when it became visible.

"Keep your eyes to yourself," He was jabbed in the back with a rifle barrel.

They went lower and lower until they were deep into the bedrock permafrost. In a large cavern there was a good sized generator with a hose that ran from it beneath the stairs they had just descended to vent the exhaust. Plugged into the generator was a piece of equipment that looked like a compressor, used no doubt to pump air into a tunnel that ran from the cavern.

The generator sputtered, making the string of bulbs that were the only source of light down there, dim and flicker.

"That's what it keeps doing. Can you fix it?"

"I should be able to, but I will need some tools."

"Aw crap, the guard groaned. "The tool box is on the upper level...look you just stay put while I go get it. I'll be right back."

"You got it," Illya saluted.

As soon as the man was out of sight he headed down the crudely carved tunnel, seeing many of the the wooden supports he'd made. Those interspersed with the railroad ties kept the whole thing from coming down, though there were definite signs of the permafrost thawing out. The warmer air being pumped in by the compressor was probably contributing to that the most.

Holding a mini-flashlight he had tucked in his back pocket, he crept forward, hearing voices as the tunnel came to an end. It opened into another large cavern, this one filled with laboratory equipment. Two men in lab coats were complaining about the lights and he listened as their voices trailed off; they'd gone down another tunnel. When he no longer could hear them he quickly moved into the cavern.

Not making head nor tail of what was in the many beakers, he finally located a notebook. Flipping it open, Illya began to read, to his astonishment. " _Bozhe moy_ ,so this is their scheme." He hadn't expected this at all..

When he'd seen enough he decided it was time to get right back to the generator and that's when it happened.

Illya felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and he dropped to his knees. His vision began to blur as he teetered. but before losing consciousness the last image he saw was the smiling face of Viktor Popsuy standing over him.


	7. Chapter 7

Illya woke up with a pounding headache. That seemed to be a natural state of being with him when it came to doing his job. He was seated in a chair with his hands bound behind his back, something else to which he was sadly well accustomed.

" _Nu privet g-n Dezhnev, (Well hello Mr. Dezhnev) If that is indeed your name,_ " He was greeted in Russian by none other than Viktor Popsuy.

' _Da, i kto vy ?" (Yes, and who are you?)_ Illya played dumb.

Popsuy laughed aloud. "No the question is who are you? I know you're from UNCLE." He held up Illya's communicator pen.

"Whose Uncle, your's? How would I know him? I do not know you either."

"Don't be coy with me. You know what I mean, don't you?

"No I do not? Is there some sort of union with whom I can file a grievance? The working conditions here are terrible."

That earned Illya a slap in the face.

Popsuy sneered, flashing his white and somewhat jagged looking teeth. Once doing that, his innocuous face transformed, making him resemble a feral beast.

"I am of two minds, a contrarian perhaps, as I abhor violence yet I find it a necessary means to an end."

"That is not what I have heard. You seem to have left a trail of bodies in your wake in your rise to power. Power is fleeting, I warn you. You will fail in the end."

Popsuy howled with laughter.

"You are a bold little fellow even when you might be facing your own death, but we will see about that. I guarantee you will be begging me to end your insignificant life before long. However, I can be merciful. Tell me the truth and I will set you free and kill you quickly. Who are you and what do you know about this place?"

Illya shook his head, deciding to shut up for once. He had a bad habit of mouthing off to his captors and only irritating them. Doing that to a man like Popsuy was not a good idea though it really was already too late.

Viktor grabbed him by the hair, wrenching the blond head to the side before making a fist and pounding Illya's face again and again. Kuryakin's lip split, oozing blood into his mouth and down his chin.

The Thrushman continued to hit him repeatedly, finally slamming the agent's head back against a four by four behind him, leaving a bloody mark on the wood and knocking Illya out cold.

When Kuryakin opened his eyes again, he was alone and in a massive amount of pain. This one he might not be able to get out of so easily, and it called for some sort of drastic measure.

Besides his head, his jaw was aching and he could feel with his tongue that a back molar had been damaged during the beating. It was only a temporary crown and what was hidden beneath the tooth was something that would help him greatly, until the cavalry would arrive...he hoped.

Once his not reporting to Waverly had passed the twenty-four hour mark it would be necessary to send a backup team. He had to stay alive until then, but if he died then he would do so without giving away his mission.

After poking around with his tongue he moved the crown enough to find what he was looking for, that little blue pill known as capsule B. He'd placed there as his communicator where it was usually hidden had been modified to include the new camera, so there just wasn't room for it.

In this case it was a boon since the pill was hidden beneath the the crown. Once swallowing it his memory would be wiped for seventy-two hours, though his skills would not. Those were automatic to a trained agent, and wouldn't require remembering them. All relative he supposed, if he didn't get the chance to escape.

Illya swallowed the pill, breathing deeply as he waited for it to take effect.

The dimly lit room began to spin a little, his vision blurred as the nausea set in, and then there was nothing.

He must have dozed off and footsteps approaching, echoing on the stone floor woke him.

"So are you ready to answer my questions?" A rather ordinary looking dark haired man asked him.

"I am afraid I have forgotten them? Why am I tied up?"

"I will repeat them for you only once. Who are you and what does UNCLE know about this operation?"

"Uncle? Whose Uncle? Why am I tied up? Please let me loose? I am in a lot of pain."

The man slapped him in the face, cursing at him.

"Ow! Please do not hurt me. I will tell you whatever you want to hear." Illya practically begged.

"Who are you?"

Kuryakin stammered as he thought hard.

"I...I do not know? Do you not know who I am?"

"The name you gave us was Nicholaí Dezhnev."

"It is? I mean that is my name? I cannot remember. Who are you?"

Popsuy roared his frustration. "Take him away. Put him in with the others," he ordered a guard. He is of no use to me like this. I want the name of the guard who searched this man as he obviously missed a drug these agents take."

"Please where am I. Why are you doing this to me?" Illya begged as he was dragged out.

He reacted on pure instinct, pulling away from the guard and kneeing him in the stomach. Illya took off down the tunnel, his hands still bound behind him. He ran into what looked like some sort of lab and there he fell hard to the ground as someone had hit him from behind.

Everything was spinning again as he was dragged off by two guards now, taken to a smaller barred cave and there he was dumped inside.

Illya laid there in the dimly lit cave. He saw bars across the opening as he surveyed his surroundings, until he realized he wasn't alone.

He could see several pairs of feet, attached to legs as men were seated on the floor in the rear of the cave, leaning their backs against the wall. He couldn't see their faces.

One of them moaned.

"Who are you?" Kuryakin asked, thinking he seemed to be using the word 'who' a lot. Getting to his knees; he moved closer to them. "Could you please untie my hands?" When he got a better look, seeing their faces...he gasped, falling backwards to the floor.

They looked like skeletons, with their faces ghastly thin. Their lips were drawn back in a permanent sneer and there were dark circles under their eyes. If it hadn't been for the moan, he would have thought all of them were dead.

Images suddenly flashed into his head...people in striped pajamas, all of them looking like the walking dead. There were naked corpses, just skin and bones in pits. It was horrifying and Illya suddenly felt very small and afraid. Still his fear didn't deter him for asking questions.*

"What is wrong with you?" He demanded.

One of the men stirred, speaking Russian.

"We're starving to death. You got food?"

"Food?" Illya repeated in confusion."No I do not."

"What good are you then." The man speaking drew himself inwards, huddling up in a ball.

Another question Illya couldn't answer, how could he? He didn't even know his own name.

"Don't let him bother you, he's cranky all the time."

"Shut up Reuben!" The first man barked.

"May I ask you another question?"

"Go ahead," Reuben answered.

"I do not know my name or where we are...do you know?"

"Sorry bud, I don't know you but as to where we are? We're in hell waiting to die."

That was a cryptic answer, but Illya wouldn't accept it. "I meant what place is this? Where is it located?"

"Not that it means anything anymore, but we're off the coast of Alaska on the island of Little Diomede."

"No we're not Reuben, we're underneath it."

"Yeah Marty, you're right on that one," he chuckled. "Comeer kid, I'll untie you for all the good it'll do."

Illya scooched himself over, turning his back to the man as he felt thin fingers fumble with the ropes.

"So what happened to you Mister?" Reuben asked."Looks like they did a number on your face. Did you ask more of your questions to the wrong people?"

"I do not know." Illya mumbled, " I cannot even remember…"

"Yeah yeah," Marty droned." You don't know your name, so what. Doesn't matter 'cause you're a dead man. We're all dead men here."

"Why?"

"Because you _bolvan_ , like you're doing now... we asked too many questions. We were too nosy. Now shut up will ya', all this talk is making me tired."

"What found you here in the first place?"Illya asked, trying to make some conversation.

"I was hired to work as an engineer. I was supposed to figure out how to dig in the permafrost, and I took care of the machinery too," Ruben said." Marty here was a carpenter, built pretty much everything here made of wood himself."

"For all the good it's done us. We're going to die down here," Marty repeated himself.

"Well I for one plan to get out of here, and I will help you escape as well," Illya announced to them.

"You don't even know who you are? Guess they hit you pretty hard. Well you deserve to have a name so when the spirits come to guide you to your rest, they'll know who you are. So I Reuben Romanovich Vorontsov here by declare your name to be...umm, _Illya Muromets,"_ he chuckled at his cleverness." You'll be our hero if you can get us out of here." Voronstov figured humoring the poor guy couldn't hurt.

" _Illya Muromets?_ " Kuryakin repeated. He knew that name and the story behind it and it was not the first time he'd been called that... _Illya."_

"Thank you," he tried to smile, but it hurt. He stood up, walking about their prison, examining every nook and cranny. Illya studied the bars and the lock and suddenly his hand went to his mouth and he found himself feeling around his unbroken molar for something, but for what? His fingers found nothing. Why did he do that?"

He sat down on the cold floor, feeling perplexed.

"Ah so the hero has given up already?"Marty jabbed.

"So who is the other fellow among you? He does not say much." Illya asked yet another question, noting the man hadn't said a word.

"That's Bobby Tingenek. Used to call him Bobby Bare Ice, but not anymore."

"Why?" Illya was getting tired of asking questions but something drove him to it. He was curious by nature...how did he know that when he didn't even know who he was?

"Because he's dead," Marty snickered. "We're all gonna be dead, you're not getting out of here buddy unless it's in a body bag, that is if they even give us that courtesy. So far they haven't done it for Bobby."

What was this mad house in which he was trapped?" Illya grabbed his head, rubbing his temples as they throbbed.

There was a loud bang on the cell bars. "Hey you, blondie. Get back away from the door."

Illya heard a rifle being cocked. How he knew that sound, he had no idea, but at the moment that didn't matter as he scuttled to the back of the cave. A bout of nausea hit him as he did so, making his stomach churn.

"Okay piggies, feeding time!" A man entered the cell, carrying with him three wooden bowls filled with what looked like oatmeal mush. The portions were surprisingly large.

"Maybe they were going to have mercy on these men and feed them more...whoever 'they' were," Illya wondered to himself.

Once the cell door was shut, the men grabbed their bowls and began scooping up the food with their hands, voraciously feeding themselves.

Something told Kuryakin not to eat his, and given how his stomach felt at the moment, he couldn't eat even if he wanted to for it most likely would come back up. Illya felt as though he should know something about that; something, a memory was trying to make itself known. Suddenly images of a notebook flashed in his head, formulas...but to what? He didn't understand what it meant but he knew he was supposed to know.

"You gonna eat that Illya?" Reuben asked, nearly finished with his food.

"No.'

The man grabbed the bowl, hesitating for a moment before giving half of it to the dark-haired Marty.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, and Kuryakin tried to count the hours until each meal arrived. Still he refused to eat.

"You're going to starve faster that we are at the rate you're going," Voronstov warned. "Here, eat something won't you?"

"No thank you." It seemed to Kuryakin that something was wrong. These men were being given large portions of food, yet they were wasting away. He felt somehow that he knew they answer why, but it just wouldn't reveal itself to him.

His internal clock along with the feeding schedule. his hunger and his beard growth told him it had to have been down at least two days..

There was no means of escape he could find, and jumping the guards at feeding time seemed a court of last resort. He could do it, though he had no idea how, but he just knew. There'd be no help from Marty or Reuben as they were simply too weak.

If he did not succeed in his escape attempt than this would be his 'Waterloo'. Waterloo, Waterloo... _Napoleon?_ "

The name flashed into Illya's head, giving him a momentary image of a handsome dark-haired man with a slight cleft in his chin. Now who the hell was this fellow? Was his name Napoleon?"

Suddenly a number popped into his head...72. The number held some sort of significance, but what it meant Illya had no idea. He just knew it was important...

.

* a flash of memory from Illya's childhood when he was in a concentration camp. See my story "Beginnings."


	8. Chapter 8

It was an hour past sunset and the stars looked so close that it felt like you could reach out and grab them. Dancing in the sky, filling it with the pulsating ripples of greens, pinks and whites was the aurora borealis, appearing as brilliantly as Ivy had hoped it would.

Napoleon and Peter positioned themselves not far from the entrance to the silo, awaiting the promised distraction, and when it came, it was a doozie.

Approximately ten of the villagers had gathered, spreading blankets on the rocky ground still covered with a light dusting of snow. They built fire in the center of the circle they'd formed, using precious bits of wood as and who knew what else for the fuel. Sitting down around it once the flames were burning high; they each set a drum in front of themselves and began to beat in time together.

As the village shaman Oki Nauja stood, speaking out in English; stating an affirmation of the native Inuit beliefs to the other villagers who had gathered as well.

" _All of our customs come from life and turn towards life; we explain nothing, we believe nothing…_

 _We fear da weather spirit of da earth that we must fight against to wrest our food from the land and sea. We fear Sila. We fear death and hunger in da cold snow huts._

 _We fear Takanakapsaluk, da great woman down at da bottom of da sea, who rules over all da beast of da sea. We fear sickness we meet daily all around us; not death, but da suffering._

 _We fear evil spirits of life, those of da air, of da sea and earth, that can help the wicked shamans to harm their fellow men. We fear souls of dead human beings and of da animals we have killed._

 _Therefore it is that our fathers have inherited from their fathers all da old rules of life which are based on experience and wisdom of generations. We do not now know how, we cannot say why, but we keep da rules so we_ _may live_ _untroubled. Ignorant are we in spite of all our shamans, we fear everything unfamiliar. We fear what we see about us, and we fear all invisible things about us, all we have heard in our forefathers' stories and myths." *_

"We call upon you good _Tuurngait_ to help us in our hour of need. Help us drive away fear and da evil shamans. Send us a sign, send us your spirit lights that we might know you are with da people."

Oki seated himself, and began drumming with the others and together they began to chant. As if on cue, three strange balls of light appeared in the sky pulsating and it seemed as if they were controlled, like they were waiting for something.

Napoleon focused on Ivy, waiting for her to act. She and a few others moved farther away from the circle, while the rest of the village...including the half dozen guards who'd emerged through the silo door to watch the goings on.

There was a puff of smoke and a bright stream of sparks rose into the sky, exploding into a ball of light...fireworks! Ivy lit more and the effect combined with the aurora borealis was spectacular, not to mention the loud booms of the repeats as they went off. This was her promised distraction .

"We're on Pete," Solo whispered, hiking up the backpack that held their C-4, detonators and timers. Between what Illya had and they'd brought, there would be enough to blow the silo sky high. That could only happen once they verified there was no nuclear warhead. If there was, it would have to be disarmed and removed before any detonations took place.

Solo crossed his fingers on that, hoping there was nothing to disarm.

Though he knew the mission took precedence, Kuryakin was on the back of Napoleon's mind. He desperately wanted to search for his partner, but that was low on the to-do list, supposed to be, that is.

"I'm going to find you tovarisch," He still vowed to himself in spite of Waverly's warning not to do it.

They carefully opened the door and after quickly surveying the area, the agents headed down a seemingly long flight of wooden stairs. Their guns were drawn, ready for anything that might come their way, though they hoped nothing would.

Everything was surprisingly quiet and as they went lower, the rocket...the very image Illya had sent them, came into view.

"I've got this," Pete whispered. He pulled a small metal arrow with a line attached to it from his pack, fitting it into a miniature crossbow. He aimed at a wooden beam across from them and shot, hitting his mark.

After giving it a substantial tug as a test, he tied the other end off on the railing and climbed over. He moved slowly, hand over hand until he reached the top of the rocket, and grabbing hold; he hung onto it like a monkey to a tree.

He removed several small tools from his pocket and in minutes he had the nose cone removed….there was nothing there and he breathed a sigh of relief. Looking over the sides of the rocket he saw other no doors or panels...not a thing.

He returned to Solo and cut the rope, letting it fall out of view.

"I think we got here in time. There's nothing in there at all."

"Still we need to see if they have a nuclear device, let's go," Solo whispered.

They continued down the stairs, coming to the cavern where a generator and compressor were located. Two openings leading out from there.

"When in doubt young man, go right," Napoleon said.

"I say we split up."

"Okay you go left, I'll go right. Just be careful Pete. Use your radio," Solo tapped the bud nestled in his ear. "Plant your explosives so we can make quick work of this place. We can set smaller amounts of C-4 on the way out so we can collapse the tunnel around the rocket without affecting it. That's a temporary fix, preventing its use until a cleanup team can be brought in."

They headed down their respective tunnels, still seeing no one. The distraction Ivy had provided had apparently drawn out everyone, though they didn't see Viktor Popsuy. At least the fireworks offered a bit of amusement to the dim-witted THRUSH guards, making them look like deer in headlights.

As he moved forward in the low light, following the string of bulbs strung on the roof of the tunnel, Napoleon paused. There were voices up ahead... one of which he recognized. It was Illya!

He moved quickly, finally halting in front of a set of bars set across an opening to a smaller cave carved within the bedrock.

"Illya?" He whispered," It's Napoleon."

There was no answer. Kuryakin was wary. How did a guard know the name Reuben had given to him? Were their captors listening in on their conversation? And there was that name Napoleon again...why did it seem of significance to him? Illya's head began to throb; too many questions.

A dark haired man, the one Illya had seen among the many images that had flashed in his head, stepped close to the bars.

"Stay back, I'm going to blow the lock." Napoleon placed a small about of grey explosive putty into it, adding a short fuse; he turned his back while pulling and depressing the stem on his watch.

There was a hiss, followed seconds later by a smoky pop and the door swung free. Solo stuck his head inside. "Come on let's get you out of here."

"Who are you?" Illya asked, his eyes wide with confusion.

"Huh? It's me Napoleon. Is there something wrong with your eyesight?"

"Nope, he just can't remember a thing, not even who he is. How'd you know the name we gave him?" Reuben asked.

"His name is Illya. Illya Kuryakin and he's my partner…"

"I do not know you," the blond began rubbing his temples again.

Napoleon hesitated before coming to a sudden realization as he looked into his partner's eyes. Illya's face was bruised and bloodied, but he looked none the worse for wear compared to past captivites when he'd been brutally tortured.

"Oh crap, you took capsule B didn't you?"

"What is that?"

"It's a little blue pill that give you amnesia for seventy-two hours."

Illya quirked his head to one side. These were all pieces of a puzzle that his mind was trying to help him put together. Was that why the number seventy-two meant something? This had to be real. How would this Napoleon have known of his memory loss?"

"Listen to me," Solo leaned in close," I'm going to say a word to you. It's one that will bring back your memories."

"How can a word do that?"

"Illya please there's no time for explanations, it's like a post hypnotic suggestion and...well, just listen."

Solo cleaned his throat, whispering in a monotone voice.

"The word is _dumpling._ "

Kuryakin blinked several times, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, like a man coming out of a deep sleep.

"Napoleon, I had the strangest dream. I dreamt I was in a cave with two men and a corpse…"

"Hey sunshine," Marty called." You are in a cave with two men and a corpse… or should I call you a _bolvan_ again?

"No time for chit chat. We have to get out of here and fast," Napoleon said. "We're going to blow this place sky high."

"Napoleon wait, you cannot set off explosives here. There is no nuclear device but there is something just as dangerous. THRUSH is planning to launch the rocket containing chemically altered spores. They will aim it at the heartland of the United States and infect the food crops, all of them, just not grains. People will eat them, yet starve to death. The more of the infected foods they eat, the faster they will waste away," Illya turned to the other men.

"Marty, Reuben, and your dead friend, you all were guinea pigs. They tried to give me the food as well, but something told me not to touch it. Napoleon if you blow up the lab, you risk the spores getting into the air; they will still contaminate the soil. One Spring returns they will infect the crops as they sprout. This place can only be cleansed with fire."

"Then change of tactics partner."

Solo touched his hand to his earpiece, and spoke into a small microphone attached to his jacket cuff.

"Pete, I've found Illya. I...we'll need your help. Pete, come in?"

There was no answer.

"Napoleon, is that Galey?"

"Yes, he's on this assignment with me."

"He is a good man. Now, I can manage," Kuryakin grunted as he helped Reuben to his feet; Solo did likewise with Marty. The weakened men could barely walk and when they got the to the stairs, the only way they could be gotten up was to be carried.

For Napoleon, it wasn't a problem, but Illya wasn't doing well after his beatings and the hit to his head, though it was something to which he wouldn't admit.

He stopped to catch his breath, lowering Reuben to hang onto the railing.

"You okay?" Solo quietly called.

Kuryakin waved him on. "Go, I will be all right. Get Marty out and come back to help me with Reuben." Napoleon shook his head as the Russian's stubbornness, continuing up the stairs and finally out the door.

"I can make it on my own from here," Marty said." I'll head for the shed, then to the Oki's shop. Thanks. Good luck with what you boys have to do. Give 'em hell."

Solo watched a moment as Marty gingerly climbed the stone steps; freedom gave him the energy he needed, as did the cold fresh air.

Napoleon bounded down the stairs, taking hold of Reuben and did the same with him. "Come on Illya, or do I have to carry you too?"

"No, I am going to the lab to get things started and look for Peter. It is located through the other tunnel.

"Be careful tovarisch."

"I promised Mr. Waverly I would and I give you my word as well," the Russian's voice echoed as he disappeared down the stairs.

Kuryakin moved slowly but with purpose, and when he arrived at the bottom of the staircase he grabbed the two canisters of gasoline used for the generator.

The fuel inside the containers sloshed as he headed down the tunnel, and arriving in the chamber were the lab was located; he began pouring the gasoline, splashing the accelerant on the workbenches and most importantly the copious notes sitting there. There were two small metal boxes that had not been there when he first saw the lab.

Opening one with care, he discovered it was the payload for the rocket...the infected spores. He poured gasoline on in it and did the same with the second container.

There was no sign of Galey as Illya continued his work, and looking over his shoulder he saw Viktor Popsuy charging him from the shadows. Grabbing one of the containers; he slammed it into the man's face.

Viktor went flying backwards, his face bloodied from the blow. Illya acting on pure adrenaline dove down at him, taking hold of him by the shirt and slamming his fist into Popsuy's face.

"Where is Peter Galey?" Illya demanded.

Viktor spat blood at the agent. "You know saying in Russian.. _. otkinut' kopyta._ How they say in English...kick the bucket."

" _Chyort vas v ad!" (Damn you to hell!)_ Illya snarled. He drew back his fist to slam into the man, but Popsuy managed to grab the empty metal box and swung, hitting Illya in the head. The blow knocked him off Viktor, and still reeling from his previous head injury and nauseating after effects of capsule B, Illya blacked out for a moment. That was enough time for Popsuy to get away.

He took off down the tunnel, and Illya coming to his senses staggered after him. He ran straight into Napoleon, who saw fresh blood on his partner's face.

"What happened?"

"Did you see Popsuy? He came down this tunnel."

"No, there was no one. Illya where's Pete?" His absence made Solo nervous.

"Popsuy said he was dead, but I did not see a body. Napoleon go look for him and when you have found him, set fire to that lab. I already poured gasoline there."

"And you're…"

"I am going after Victor Popsuy and end this once and for all. He is mine." Kuryakin's Russian accent came through.

Napoleon handed his partner his backup pistol. There was no arguing with him; was a stubborn man and had made up his mind.

"Watch yourself, will you?"

"Though I want to tell you to stop being a mother hen, I will now. Illya's voice echoed from the tunnel until it faded.

Adrenaline powered his efforts now as he charged up the long stairs. If there were a chopper out there, the only place Viktor could be heading was the helipad.

Illya burst out into the cold night air, seeing the villagers had gathered together and subdued the THRUSH guards who came out to watch the fireworks. That part of the plan Illya had been unaware of, and seeing the goons under control he dismissed them, continuing around the other side of the silo to the helipad.

There he saw Viktor making his way towards a helicopter. The blades weren't rotating, so he'd need a minute to get the engine warmed up before taking off. That was all the time Kuryakin needed.

Viktor had no idea the agent was there as the helicopter blades started their rotation. He panicked upon seeing Illya, and the chopper began to slowly rise; his eyes filled with horror as Kuryakin ripped open the pilot side door, grabbing hold of him and pulling him out.

The two men went flying to the ground as they wrestled, with Popsuy grabbing a small rock and trying to smash it into Kuryakin's face. Illya dodged the blow but the chopper, still operating out of control, flipped to its side. He dove to safety and miraculously the debris from the shattering blades missed both him and Viktor. The helicopter rolled over, toppling into the ocean and exploded.

Illya lay there on the cold helipad, the wind knocked from of his sails.

Seeing Kuryakin out of it gave Viktor a rush. That spurred him on and the energy he needed to climb upwards, but where he was going, he had no idea.

He cut through the village continuing to climb. Making his way towards the castle; he most likely hoped he could lose himself in the rock formations.

Kuryakin, out of breath and in pain, pulled himself up and gave chase, streaking past the village residents. Climbing up the dangerous incline; he Viktor towards the jagged rock outcroppings, heading towards the upper west side of the island.

Though he was injured, Illya was younger and in better shape than the other man, and soon caught up to him. He got off one shot after another without success, the bullets ricocheting off the rocks, but a moving target under these conditions was difficult.

Finally Kuryakin stood his ground as Viktor could go no farther and aiming Napoleon's .38 caliber pistol at Popsuy; Illya tried to steady his trembling hand as there was but one bullet left.

The backdrop to his target was the shimmering of the aurora borealis, almost hypnotic in the way they moved. Illya tried to keep the undulating lights from distracting him as he squeezed off the shot.

He missed...


	9. Chapter 9

Illya was shocked. How could he have missed, especially standing this close to his target? Popsuy hadn't moved. Maybe his aim was off because of his head injury, though his vision seemed fine?

Suddenly there was a bright light that streamed down on Viktor, as if someone had turned on a spot light. It was so intense that it was nearly blinding, yet undulating greens of the aurora were still clearly visible.

Viktor covered his eyes with his arms, startled by the unexpected brightness. He stepped backwards once, then again and screamed as he teetered on the edge of the dangerous precipice of which Ivy had warned Illya.

His arms aeroplaned as he went over but his howling came to an abrupt stop. Illya had no doubt the man was dead.

This was the spot where legend said a woman who climbed up there one day carrying her baby. When she slipped on loose rocks, she fell and was cut in half by the rocks below.

The ball of light in the sky diminished in its intensity, allowing Kuryakin to peer over the edge and see the body of Viktor Popsy had indeed been cut to pieces. He tried to think of something pithy to say as was his habit it such situations, but since Napoleon wasn't present, what was the point?

Illya carefully made his way back down; the light above him moving slowly above him as if guiding his way across the treacherous rocks.

Once he reached his partner and the others, it hovered a few more seconds before moving at an unbelievable speed, joining the two other balls of light now suspended over the silo; the three of them forming a triad.

Smoke coming up through the open silo door was still billowing upwards making it easier to see because of their light. The whole scene was surreal.

To Kuryakin's relief, standing there with Solo and Ivy was none other than Peter Galey. Popsuy had lied and he was grateful he'd decided not to trust the man at his word, otherwise the young agent might have been burned to death.

Napoleon found Peter trussed up in another tunnel leading out of the lab, and there the two men discovered more containers of the spores. He and Galey doused them all with the remainder of the gasoline, and making it a controlled burn; they knocked down some of the wooden supports, moving them into the lab, creating a break and cutting off the flames from spreading into the cavern where the rocket and stairs were located.

"Where's Viktor?" Solo asked.

"He took a trip, and just went all to pieces over it," Illya got to make his pithy remark after all. It was cryptic to his partner, but just as Napoleon was going to ask what Illya meant, everyone's attention was drawn back to the sky.

They looked up at the balls of light still hovering in formation as they increased in brightness. The lights...spirit lights Oki again called them, began to rise higher into the air and were suddenly gone in the blink of an eye.

"So how are we going to write that up in our report?" Illya asked.

"Good question," Napoleon shook his head, not knowing what to believe...UFO's, spirits; it was all a bit bizarre, though there was no arguing those lights had helped rid the island of THRUSH.

Ivy stepped over to Kuryakin, latching onto his arm and giving him a peck on the cheek.

Napoleon leaned over, whispering to him. "You're blushing…"

"Nonsense, it is merely the light of the aurora." Illya tried to maintain his dignity.

"Yeah right," he snickered. "Ivy, I'd like you to officially meet my partner, Mr. Illya Kuryakin."

"Pleased to meet you _Illya._ See, you were a good omen after all, "she smiled. "Now let's get you home and take care of your injuries "

The four of them headed back to Ivy's house. Marty and Reuben were being looked after by Oki and his wife at their place above the store. What they needed was real food, warmth and a stress free environment.

All seemed right with the world...for the moment.

Once Illya's injuries had been seen to by the tender ministrations of Ivy, he was banished to his bed and was sound asleep even before Ivy brought him his food. The others were fed, though she apologized as it was only vegetable soup with bread; to the tired and hungry UNCLE agents, it hit the spot.

"Best tasting soup I've ever had," Napoleon said.

"You're just saying that," she waved him off.

They were all eventually quiet while eating, as no one was quite ready to talk about what had happened. Weariness hit them all like a ton of bricks had been lain on their shoulders.

With Illya tucked safely into bed upstairs, Napoleon was ready to fall asleep himself but before he could to that, he contacted Mr. Waverly, filling him in great detail of the success of their mission.

"Sir is there any way we could get out of here by a more direct route. Mr. Kuryakin does need some medical attention."

"I'm afraid Mr. Solo that you will be there in Diomede indefinitely. There is a very large and dangersous storm coming down from the north and should arrive at your location during the night. Once the weather improves we will come up with a plan to extricate you all. I must say, this was a job well done indeed. Give Mr. Kuryakin my best for a speedy recovery."

"Yes sir, thank you. I will. Solo out. Well that settles that huh Pete?"

"Hey, I wouldn't mind a few snow days to recuperate." He rubbed the back of his head where Popsuy had hit him.

"Ivy will you be able to put us up a little longer? We wouldn't want to impose?"

"Napoleon it'll be my pleasure. You all helped free us from those people. I heard Oki calling them bad shamans, and maybe that's what they were in a way, looking to bring evil to the world."

She got out some extra blankets, with Peter taking the sofa, and Napoleon using Ivy's late brother's bedroll, slept on the floor in the room with Illya.

"I'm going to turn up the heaters, as this storm sounds like a serious one. I have plenty of kerosene on hand. If you wake up during the night, and have to use the ummm, toilet. I recommend the bucket in the back room. Wouldn't want you falling out in the dark and snow to get to the outhouse," she tried not to chuckle."Though my brother used to just pee out the door when the weather turned really bad, if you know what I mean."

Napoleon maintained his dignity, and simply nodded.

"The electric kettle's on the counter if you decide you want some tea, and there's shortbread in the cabinet. Help yourselves. I don't know about you but all this has exhausted me. I'm off for a rendezvous with my pillow. Good night and sleep well."

She stepped closer, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek before she headed upstairs to bed.

As promised, a hellacious storm arrived after midnight. There was not a chance anything would be flying or out on the water for the next day or two. The three agents were indeed stuck there in Diomede for the duration.

The next morning Ivy cooked them all a hearty breakfast, and though Illya protested, he was served his meal in bed. Remembering his appetite, Ivy made him scrambled eggs, though they were powdered, a flat quick bread similar to Scottish bannock, smoked halibut filets in a cream sauce, and a hot bowl of oatmeal with the sultanas he liked, along with his tea.

"Ivy you are spoiling me," he was unable to smile, nor chew that well, so his breakfast was cut up into very tiny morsels. The bread he softened with some reconstituted powdered milk. As long as he didn't get up, his dizziness seemed to abate, if he did get up it kicked in along with nausea.

He wasn't about to waist all this fine food Ivy had prepared for him by being sick...though she did provide a bucket for him bedside, just in case.

Downstairs Napoleon and Peter had finished their breakfast, both opting for a second cup of coffee to ward off the chill in the air. There wouldn't be much to do while being house bound and they'd resigned themselves to that fact. Neither man was accustomed to being completely inactive; even when on vacation, an agent was always an agent.

Ivy's home was still not that warm in spite of the heaters going full blast. It seemed the kitchen was the coziest room and it was there they opted to remain, helping her to clean up.

"Don't let us keep you from going about your routine," Napoleon said. "Is there anything with which we could help you?"

"As a matter of fact there is," she led them to the living room and pulled out her basket of yarns, sitting both men on the sofa, she instructed them. "Hold your hands this far apart, like this."She demonstrated how she wanted them held.

She untwisted a skein of wool and wrapped it around Napoleon's hands, then another around Peter's.

"I remember this," Pete said." My babushka used to make me do this when I was a little boy. You're going to wind the yarn into a ball, right?"

"That's exactly right, " she grinned. "I'm sorry this isn't very exciting for fellows like you."

"I guess it's a nice change for us to not be moving…"Pete said.

"Or to not have to be someplace halfway around the world the next day," Napoleon added.

"You really have to do that?"

"As Illya likes to say...'We go where we are told and do as we are told," Napoleon smiled. "Whatever it takes to save the world."

"Well you saved my little part of it and I'll be forever grateful."

"Ivy," Napoleon paused."What did you make of those lights. They seemed to turn up at the right time, just when all the singing was going on. Don't you find it strange they seemed to target Viktor Popsuy, the chanting circle and the silo?"

"Napoleon, I was raised in two worlds, my mother was Inuit and my dad was Russian. I went to the mainland to go to school and to become a teacher so I could come back here and help my people. Part of me tells me to believe the legends my mother and the others told me all my life. The realist in me tells me the lights have to be some sort of natural phenomenon like the northern lights."

"I understand your dilemma. We have one too as we have to file a report on this whole affair and I'm not quite sure what to say about those lights. Back home we call them UFOs but I'm not sure how well that will go over with my boss."

"Unidentified flying objects? Wow, I never thought of them as that...like spaceships, you mean?"

"Well I wouldn't go as far as to say that, but there seemed to be a deliberate behavior on their part."

"Your guess is as good as mine," she quirked her head." Now sit still and let me finish rolling this wool."

When they were done, Ivy, having pity on them, turned on her radio. She fussed with the dial, catching the weather broadcast via shortwave from the Air Force base just outside of Nome.

The report wasn't good. It was going to snow straight for the next three days. Sometimes blizzard conditions, with heavy snow accumulation and drifting.

She fussed with the dial again, finally finding some music.

" _Moon river, wider than a mile,I'm crossing you in style some day."_

"Oh I just love this song!"

"Well then may I have this dance,"Napoleon offered her his hand. She took it and let him waltz her around the room.

" _Oh dream maker, you heart breaker, Wherever you're goin, I'm goin your way. Two drifters off to see the world,There's such a lot of world to see,We're after the same rainbow's end,Waiting 'round the bend, my huckleberry friend, Moon river and me.."_

He ended the dance, giving her a little twirl.

"My turn," Pete cut in as another song came on…Nat King Cole's ' _Ramblin' Rose."_

Ivy laughed like a school girl. "I haven't had fun like this in a long time, not since I was away at school. As you can see I don't dance often. I must have two left feet."

"You're doing fine," Napoleon called out.

"Yes you are," Illya appeared at the bottom of the stairs, chiming in.

"What are you doing out of bed?"Ivy wagged her finger at him.

"I only came down to investigate all the commotion. Sounds like you are having quite the time." He was feeling better by his standards, though anyone else would have still been curled up in bed.

The next song on the radio made his ears perk up. It was a Russian singer performing ' _Midnight in Moscow."_

It hurt to do so, but Illya flashed a crooked smiled as he nudged Pete out of the way. "I think this is my dance."

Napoleon was grinning ear to ear as he watched his partner slowly move and sway with Ivy to this one, spinning her around at the end.

When it was over, Illya flopped down on the sofa, trying to hide the fact that he was feeling dizzy.

Solo and Galey applauded, unaware Kuryakin was still feeling unwell.

"I think it's time for aspirin and some nice hot tea, then it's back to bed Mister," Ivy chided Illya. She could see something was wrong in spite of his attempts to hide how he felt.

He was given his marching orders and after taking his aspirin like a good patient, Ivy escorted him back upstairs with a nice big mug of tea and a couple of books from her collection. She filled Illya in on the weather conditions, telling him to take it easy since medical attention was a ways off until he and the others got off the island.

She sat with him for a few minutes as he sipped his tea, and before long he dozed off, never even having a chance to look at the books.

When she returned, the radio had been switched off. No need to waste the electricity Napoleon had surmised.

"He's asleep again, that's the best thing for him. So boys how are you around the kitchen?"

"Me," Solo grinned,"I'm a whiz when it comes to cooking."

"Count me out," Galey laughed." I couldn't cook my way out of a paper bag."

"Well then you'll be peeling and slicing the potatoes and carrots, Peter." Napoleon, you'll help me make the sauce. You like things spicy or mild?"

"My lady, the kitchen is your purview so I defer to your preferences."

"Mr. Solo, you're going to spoil me, speaking like that. I'm not exactly used to a someone with a good vocabulary."

"Well you do have one up on me since I don't speak Inuit."

"Two Napoleon, since her Russian is way better than yours," Pete jabbed.

"Gee, thanks a lot. See if I don't partner you with someone who's stationed in Antarctica when we get back. You do recall that I'm CEA?"

"Umm, wow. Sorry I didn't mean to…" Peter's face went as white as a sheet.

Napoleon slapped him on the back." Pete relax. I was only joking."


	10. Chapter 10

Several days passed; at least four feet of snow had fallen with drifts blowing even higher. Some of the stilts supporting the houses were barely visible under the blanket of white that covered the land and the water, so much so you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Ivy tried staying ahead of things; sweeping and shoveling her ramp and steps. Napoleon and Pete would hear nothing of it and did it themselves, banishing her indoors to keep Illya company. Clearing the snow seemed like a Sisyphean task, pointless as it just kept coming down to the point of becoming a complete white-out.

At last it did finally stop snowing and the village began the job of digging itself out. It was a routine the residents were accustomed to; it was simply part of life here on the island and they thought nothing of working at it for hours at a time.

The captive THRUSH guards and the two scientists were recruited to help as well. That was the way things were done in Diomede; everyone pitched in to do their part.

The prisoners had been locked in the the cinderblock school house, not the most comfortable of places, and were glad to get out for even a bit. Digging in four feet or more of snow was better than sitting in child size chairs staring at walls covered with simplistic drawings of seals and sea birds done by the children.

Thrush goons were apparently not good at making much small talk, and the remaining pair of scientists were too busy worrying about going to prison to say much of anything. With their leader Viktor Popsuy gone, they were simply lost without any direction; typical of the the type of people THRUSH recruited for their needs.

School had been cancelled of course until things were cleared, so the village children had fun with their sleds and playing with their dogs in the huge drifts.

Napoleon had just come in from helping with the clean up when his communicator called to him..

Illya was sitting on the sofa, reading one of Ivy's books. He was looking better but still wasn't allowed to help with any of the work.

"Solo here."

"Ah yes," Alexander Waverly cleared his throat. "I've been notified the storm has ended. However, I've also been informed that all air transport is at a standstill as runways have to be cleared. Most of the local helicopters are involved in rescue operations to extract people who have been trapped by the storm. The pack ice has built up, coming in from the North and is preventing most water transportation, with the exception of an ice breaker that is currently off near Ketchikan. However, that's well over fourteen hundred miles away and will do little good in regards to your current situation."

"I take it that means we're still going to be stuck here sir."

"No, not really." Solo could practically hear the Old Man smiling." I have arranged for you to be picked up by submarine."

"I thought the Navy wouldn't do that because of the proximity to Big Diomede...potential international ramifications as I recall."

"That's true, however, this is a privately owned submarine from the Nelson Institute of Marine Research, out of California."

"Admiral Nelson's sub... the Seaview?"

'Precisely. It will arrive at your location in two day's time. It was most fortuitous as they were doing research in the arctic, something about tracking UFO's or some such nonsense. The Admiral has volunteered to have his people help disassemble the electronics in the rocket for us. Those bits will return to UNCLE with you by the way. Once the tunnels are inspected...if the spores were indeed destroyed as you say, then they'll do some demolition work for us as well, though I do expect you to assist in overseeing that endeavor."

"That's terrific news sir."

"How is Mr. Kuryakin?"

Napoleon looked to his partner. He was his usual pale self and the bruises on his face were turning the most vivid shades of blue and yellow, the swelling was finally starting to go down as well.

"Improving sir, but not ready for the field. He took a pretty bad hit to the back of his head..."

Illya tried waving him off, without success.

"The Seaview has a fully equipped sickbay so their physician should be able give him the care he needs. They'll be taking you to down their base in Santa Barbara. If Mr. Kuryakin is unable to continue traveling, then you'll leave him at the hospital there. You and Mr. Galey will return to New York as I have assignments awaiting your attention."

"Understood sir. Solo out."

"Napoleon why did you tell him that? I am fine."

"Tovarisch, you're not, so stop fighting it. You're still getting headaches, nausea and dizziness, correct?"

"Yes, but what else is new?"Illya shrugged. Apparently Solo knew him all too well. "Napoleon I have a few ideas to help Ivy out and perhaps some of the others in the village as well. They are terribly poor and these houses have their problems."

"As I've noticed. So what do you have in mind?" He was well aware Illya was deliberately changing the subject.

"The shed still has much usable wood in it; that should be given to people who need it for their homes. In the trailer, there were several doors and rolled up carpet remnants. Ivy here needs her doors replaced and carpeting on her floors. They help keep the place much warmer, as the heat would be better retained within."

Napoleon nodded his approval."Good idea. I'll get Pete and we'll work on it before we leave."

"But I…"

"Not you. The last thing I need is you keeling over in the snow. _Capisce?"_

" _Si .(Yes boss. I understand)_ Illya grumbled in Italian.

By the end of the day, the work was completed at Ivy's house, though Illya insisted on supervising.

She was delighted with the improvements and couldn't thank them enough, not for just what they'd done for her but the other villagers as well.

It was decided, because the former THRUSH trailer was so much more roomy, comfortable and well heated, that the school would be moved there. So THRUSH ended up making some positive contributions to the community despite their evil intentions; that was a rarity for them.

Napoleon and Peter having finished what they'd promised Illya they'd do; the two men settled down in the kitchen, drinking coffee while waiting for their ride to arrive. Their gear had been packed and ready, left waiting by the front door.

Illya was in the living room discussing some book with Ivy, conversing in Russian which seemed to please Kuryakin to no end.

Napoleon smiled as his communicator chirped."Solo here."

"Yes Mr. Solo, this is Sparks the radio operator on submarine Seaview. We will be at your location in approximately thirty minutes."

"That's a roger Seaview, Solo out."

After saying their goodbyes to Ivy and the rest of the village, the three UNCLE agents gathered down at the helipad, watching a spectacular site as the submarine burst up through the pack ice, and continued moving forward, for a few hundred yards, clearing a path. It came to a stop, then reversed engines, and stopping again.

Roughly ten minutes later something yellow resembling a manta ray broke the surface of the water in front of the Seaview.

"A mini sub?" Peter asked.

"Not just that...watch," Illya pointed. He was feeling a sense of anticipation as he knew of Seaview's mini-sub, but had never seen it in action.

The little submarine suddenly took off into the sky, and came to a landing on the ice directly along the shore line where the agents waited. A hatch opened, and a dark haired man dressed in a tan uniform and parka of the same color, exited.

Napoleon grinned as he waved, calling out. "Lee!"

He carefully stepped across the ice to Solo and the two men shook hands, embracing in a back slapping hug.

"Great to see you Napoleon. Never thought I'd find you up this way...a bit cold for your taste isn't it?"

"Hey, we go where the action takes us. So how's Navy life treating you?"

"Well I'm technically on loan from the U.S. Navy so I guess it's pretty good," the Lee smiled.

Napoleon gestured towards his fellow agents. "Lee I'd like you to meet Illya Kuryakin, my partner, and this is Agent Peter Galey. Illya, Pete this is Commander Lee Crane, captain of the submarine Seaview, and...my cousin."

Greetings were exchanged, "So you're the Soviet."Crane said as he shook Illya's hand.

"And what of it may I ask?"

"Oh nothing's wrong Mr. Kuryakin. I'm just glad to meet the man who works with my favorite cousin. He's said some very positive things about you. Perhaps your presence here in the States can help soften relations between our two countries."

"Would that might happen, but I have my doubts," Illya said.

"All right then, if you'll follow me to the flying sub?" Let's get you aboard. I have men waiting to start the dismantling of the rocket as your Mr. Waverly requested, but I'll need someone to supervise."

"I'll do it," Galey volunteered. "I can wait here for your team."

"Well that's settled then, so gentlemen shall we?"

They boarded the mini- sub, buckling into their seats for their ever so brief trip to the Seaview. By the late afternoon, the work at the silo was completed, and after the demolition sealing everything, the scavanged electronics were brought to Seaview.

No one on board the submarine knew Solo, Kuryakin and Galey were UNCLE agents, though somehow members of the crew got wind that Illya was a Soviet, and that didn't sit well with a few of them. The Cold War was ever present in their minds, and Illya became an instant symbol of it to them. His presence and the eight Thrushies in the brig made them uneasy.

The crew members behaved themselves in spite of their concerns, a credit to the Captain and Admiral no doubt.

Leaving Marty and Reuben to continue to mend, Kuryakin was released from sickbay. The effects from his head injury were merely temporary, no permanent damage. Rest was the best thing for him as per the doctor.

Once out and about, he received no more than an occasional minor shoulder bump when traveling the passageways.

Peter and Napoleon had been given a tour of the Seaview but since Kuryakin was in sickbay he missed it, though Illya would have enjoyed that guided tour.

Once released, he made a point of avoiding everywhere except the ship's library, the galley and the quarters he shared with Napoleon and Peter. He hoped it would help alleviate any suspicions among the crew.

It wasn't always pleasant being watched by questioning eyes...even the Executive officer, Lt. Commander Morton and Chief Sharkey were nervous about his presence.

It seemed especially unfair since he was one of the good guys, but it was a situation to which Illya was accustomed, and he tried brushing it off as he always did. He could be tolerant when people were afraid; he would show them they simply had nothing to fear from this Soviet.

They would be in San Diego soon enough and after a brief layover the three agents would be winging their way back to New York city. Illya had been given the all clear by the ship's doctor, only being told to 'take it easy.'

Illya was sitting with Napoleon in the galley, having a cup of coffee and munching on some Boston cream doughnuts.

Solo had noticed his partner was being quieter and more invisible than usual, and was surprised his scientific curiosity didn't have the Russian checking everything out on the sub.

"Illya is everything all right with you?"

Kuryakin swallowed his bite of doughnut. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"You just seem awfully quiet, are you sure you're feeling better."

"Napoleon I am fine. Did not 'Doc' give me a clean bill of health? Since when is me being quiet a problem?"

"All right then, you're being more quiet than usual; I would have thought you'd be like a kid in a candy shop exploring the Seaview, knowing you and your insatiable appetite for learning."

Illya shrugged, which told Solo that part of the conversation was at an end. Napoleon knew better than to pursue it further but to his surprise Illya offered an honest answer.

"I am aware there is some discomfort among the crew at me being a Soviet. For that reason I think it is better I lay low and not add any fuel to the fire. I will give them no reason to think I am spying on the Seaview and stealing its secrets."

"I can talk to my cousin…"

"That is unnecessary. I am fine. Now, you never told me your cousin was Captain of the Seaview...quite a prestigious position."

"Hey partner, like you, I have a few secrets to keep as well," Napoleon smiled. He quickly changed the subject. "So how do you want report the matter of those lights back on Diomede?"

"I say we write it exactly as it happened, but make no speculation as to what the lights might have been. The fact that the Nelson Institute is investigating such phenomena offers proof we were not just seeing things or having flights of fancy."

"True, I did discuss the lights with the Admiral and he didn't bat an eye about them, on the other hand, he didn't offer an explanation for them either."

Illya let loose a barely perceptible smile."A good scientist does not draw a conclusion until all the facts are in, to do so would be pure unsubstantiated conjecture."

"Tovarisch, what do you think those lights were? Little green men in space ships, spirit lights, natural phenomenon?"

"I am a pragmatist as well as a skeptic, you know that. I will await the facts before I reach a hypothesis and not before. Now may I be so bold as to put the same question to you my friend?"

Napoleon scrunched up his face as he thought on this one before speaking. He hadn't expected Illya to ask it of him and hadn't really worked it out what he believed to his own satisfaction.

"I'd like to think there's life beyond this world. We can't be the only sentient beings in the entire universe, to think so would be pure arrogance. Now being brought up in the Christian faith, part of me wants to believe they could have been spirit lights or more precisely...angels. Perhaps it was the hand of God lending some help? Let's face it, you and I have been in some pretty tight spots and our escapes could only be described as miraculous."

"Miraculous? Yes, but not by any means other than our skill, ingenuity and perhaps a bit of luck."

"Illya you can believe in luck or the power of fate but why not God?"

"I have my reasons."

Solo wasn't about to try to rationalize the existence or the Creator and religion with his stubborn partner; it was complicated enough Napoleon had brought up the possibility of men from Mars being involved.

"And you won't tell me what those reasons will you?"

Illya shook his head. "You are a complex man Napoleon, you see the variant shades and nuances between colors, where as I am a man of absolutes, thinking in black and white," Illya sipped his coffee."We have our secrets you and I, and perhaps one day I will tell you some of mine, but not today."

"Black and white huh?" Well you could use a little color beyond that burgundy blazer and the blue one too," Solo quipped.

" _Très drôle._..ever the comedian Napoleon."

"Ahem," a voice from behind them coughed to make his presence known.

"May I join you gentlemen?" It was Admiral Harriman Nelson. He picked up white cup and saucer, plain and functional for use on a submarine, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"By all means sir. This is, after all, your boat," Napoleon replied

Nelson sat down beside the two agents. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I do apologize for eavesdropping. This might answer some questions for you both. As you know we've been investigating these phenomenon known as UFO's for some time now, and without revealing specific details that are, at present, beyond your level of security clearance; these things are real. They are terrestrial vehicles that the United States government has been well aware of since the 1950's.

"Are you referring to the supposed crash of a UFO in Roswell New Mexico?" Illya asked.

"I can tell you that's one of many documented cases, all top secret of course. Many have occurred in the New Mexico, Arizona and Mexico, though New York State has had several. Some in Finland and Western Europe as well. What we've seen and documented here on Seaview goes well beyond corroborating the fact that life exists on other worlds and these beings have and are visiting our planet."

"Wow." That's all Napoleon could say.

Nelson stood, placing his empty cup on the counter. "Do as you see fit for your report gentlemen, though Alexander Waverly does not have an open mind when it comes to this subject. Though I just might send him one of my reports to convince him otherwise; he does have the clearance for it. Yet to him it's all some sort of evil plot by...what is that organization?"

"THRUSH," Illya answered.

"Yes, and there are others as well. Good day gentlemen." Admiral Nelson disappeared out into the passageway.

The partners continued drinking their coffee, saying nothing. Too much food for thought to do so just yet…perhaps another day, as Kuryakin had said.

.

 **FINIS**


End file.
